


Aqua Fresca

by Perfica



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 75000-100000 Words, Angst, Bloodplay, Breathplay, Drama, First Time, M/M, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-11-01
Updated: 2004-11-19
Packaged: 2017-10-14 22:23:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 83,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/154127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Perfica/pseuds/Perfica
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry witnesses Severus suffering under an unusual curse. Both of them struggle to come to terms with the new intimacy that springs up between them because of the vision.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Set in an alternative reality which veers from canon after OotP, and where Harry is over eighteen and attending Hogwarts.

When Mad-Eye Moody and Remus Lupin arrived at the Dursleys’ to take him away in the second week of his incarceration there, Harry was only marginally surprised. In the past, he would have been overjoyed at the chance to leave the suffocating hatred of his relatives’ home, but so soon after Sirius’ death and all that it implied, Harry had no joy left in his heart.

He listened silently as they told him that Dumbledore had suggested the move and that he was to remain at Grimmauld Place for the remainder of his holiday. Now that Sirius was dead and the general wizarding population had been alerted to his return, Voldemort was keener than ever to put an end to Harry’s life. The Dursleys’ would remain safe, but Dumbledore felt that Harry would be immeasurably safer if he was moved to the unplottable headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix.

Instead of thanking them excitedly, or asking if he would ever have to return to the Dursleys’ again, as he would have done any other time in the past, Harry simply nodded and returned to his room. Lupin stood awkwardly in the front foyer gazing at Mrs Dursley who stared just as awkwardly back. Dudley cringed behind his mother as Moody’s magical eye twirled maniacally in its socket.

Within a few minutes, Harry had returned to the bottom of the stairs with his packed trunk and Hedwig hooting unhappily in her cage. Moody gave them a nod and Lupin laid his hand on Harry’s shoulder. Harry stood stoically in place. The two men apparated with a crack.

Moody’s magical eye scanned the room while the grizzled man gave a small, evil-looking smile, then he too disappeared.

Mrs Dursley was glad that her husband was still at work.

 

 

After being directed to his room, Harry let Hedwig out of her cage and opened the bedroom window so the owl could stretch her wings with some flying. He sullenly unpacked his possessions and stretched out on the bed, staring at the ceiling and not making a sound. Soon after, a small knock was heard on the door and Lupin entered.

“Do you mind if I come in for a bit, Harry?” he asked gently. Harry looked at him but did not answer. Lupin took that as an invitation and sat hesitantly on a chair. Harry’s eyes returned to its investigation of the cracks in the ceiling.

“You’re very quiet,” Lupin said. Harry remained still.

Lupin let out a sigh and decided to just spill it all out. “Look Harry, obviously I can tell there’s something wrong with you - and I know“ he added, holding up his palm to stop Harry from interrupting, because the boy had finally shown evidence of paying attention, “I know things have been difficult for you. They’ve been difficult for all of us. But no matter what you think, no one blames you for Sirius’ death, and we’re all worried about you. You’ve got to stop dwelling on this, it’s eating you up inside. You’re not the only one who misses him,” he added tightly.

Harry sat up and leaned back against the wall, not looking Lupin in the face. “I know I’m not the only one who misses him, and I’m not doing this for attention. None of you understand. I didn’t have anyone for myself my whole life, and when I finally did, I messed it up so badly I killed him. He would never have come after me if I hadn’t made that mistake. It’s my fault that he’s dead, and nothing you, or anyone else can say, is going to make me change my mind about that. My parents died to protect me, and Cedric was in the wrong place at the wrong time - but this time, this time, it was my fault. I forgot about the mirrors, I forget everything Dumbledore told me. I didn’t try hard enough in Occu-“ and Harry finally cracked, his words stuttering as he finally gave into the tears he’d been holding back for weeks.

Lupin moved onto the bed and held the sobbing youth in his arms. A few stray tears ran down his tired face as he comforted the boy.

“You did the best you could, Harry, don’t ever doubt that. Sirius was so proud of you. He’d talk about you for hours whenever we were together. He knows you did the best you could. Don’t ever doubt that he loved you Harry, and would’ve gladly died for you without a second’s hesitation to keep you safe. Don’t cheapen what he did by thinking so poorly of yourself.”

Lupin hugged him tightly then pulled away and waited for Harry to look him in the eye.

“It wasn’t your fault, Harry,” Lupin said steadily, wishing the boy would believe him.

Harry shook his head, his eyes and nose red from his tears. “No one can ever absolve me of this, Remus. I killed him, just as much as he did.”

“Who did, Harry?” Lupin asked, confused.

With hard eyes and the coldest voice Lupin had ever heard come from him, Harry replied, “Snape.”

 

 

The next two weeks passed dully. A member of the Order was always present at Grimmauld Place; sometimes Moody, or Tonks, or even Shacklebolt when he could get away from his official duties, but mostly Lupin. Dumbledore had stopped in the day after Harry’s arrival and spent some time with him. They had sat together in the kitchen, mostly silent but occasionally making light conversation. Harry still didn’t know how to act around the wizard; he thought he had forgiven Dumbledore for holding information back, but the wounds of those revelations were too new, too fresh to be completely forgotten. Dumbledore did his best to remain gentle, and after reminding Harry that his door was always open to him, and that he could speak to him about anything he wanted, day or night, he’d finally left the teenager to his own thoughts.

Harry sat alone in the kitchen until the sun went down, then returned to his dark, sterile room.

 

 

Owls appeared and delivered messages from Ron and Hermione, to which Harry had dutifully replied, passing his letters to a member of the Order, where they would be shunted from a secure location. Harry kept his letters deliberately bright. He didn’t want to burden his friends with his concerns or his melancholia, and he really did feel happy that they thought of him so often.

Dumbledore had instructed Dobby to stay at Grimmauld Place, so Harry was cared for physically by the house elf as well as watched over by a responsible adult at all times. He knew he should have felt suffocated, but he was glad of the quiet time to gather his thoughts. Generally the adults left him alone with his thoughts, for which Harry was grateful. And, he was allowed to eat as much as he wanted.

The first night the Order of the Phoenix held a meeting while he was in residence, Harry made sure he was in his room. He had no wish to hear the latest news, and did not want to be overwhelmed by the appearance of so many solicitous adults, Mrs Weasley in particular. Merlin knew he didn’t think of himself as a child that needed coddling anymore, but he suspected that Molly Weasley had different ideas. Ron had hinted in his letters that his mum was very worried about him.

And he didn’t want to take the chance that he’d see Snape again.

Snape. That unmitigated, evil, manipulative, lying fucking bastard. He was the reason Sirius had left the protection of Grimmauld Place. He was the reason that Dumbledore hadn’t been alerted in time. Oh yes, Dumbledore had explained that Snape had simply been doing his job, protecting his cover in front of Umbridge and Malfoy and the rest of the Slytherin sycophants, but Harry knew that nothing the man did was ever unplanned. The man had the cunning of a snake and the morals of a worm. Harry would never, ever forgive the man for how he’d goaded Sirius at every opportunity, how he’d teased him with cowardice when he knew that Sirius could not defend himself. Harry had once felt sorry for Snape, when he’d seen the contents of his Pensieve, but now he wished with ever fibre of his being that he’d been there the day the Marauders had mocked Snape. What his father had started, Harry wanted to finish. He wanted to crucify the man.

The only time he’d been forced to see him after school had broken up, Harry had been filled with such rage his wand had appeared in his hand without thought, and he held it up to Snape’s face with deadly fury, hand shaking in its need to be unleashed. Snape had entered the front door of Grimmauld Place when Harry had been coming down the stairs.

The Potions Professor stood fast, not a single movement betraying his emotions as his eyes swept over Harry’s form. Harry let out a groan of dismay as his body refused to cooperate. His mind wanted to hurt the man, his heart wanted to kill him, but his mouth wouldn’t say the words to let him accomplish either of those acts.

Snape’s eyebrows creased in thought and, without a word, he swept past Harry and entered the kitchen, closing the door quietly behind him. Harry had collapsed onto the stairs, head hanging between his knees as he panted and angry tears filled his eyes. He was so close, and he hadn’t been able to do it. He returned to his room and did not come out until the next day.

 

 

Harry knew he was dreaming when he grabbed his wand and pointed it at Peter Pettigrew, who did not even blink in his direction. Wormtail jostled nervously from one foot to another, his real hand absent-mindedly stroking his silver one, and looking eagerly over his shoulder. Harry took a few cautious steps back and looked around.

He appeared to be in a circular clearing; low grass and knee-high shrubs bordered the copse, while tall trees hung forebodingly. A dozen or so people in dark cloaks and masks stood quietly facing his direction.

“Death-Eaters,” Harry said softly, hand still tightly clutching his wand. As one, the assembled Death-Eaters fell to the floor on their knees. Harry swung around and saw him slowly approach.

Voldemort.

Even though his approach was steady, Harry could see that he walked gingerly. The heavy wrap of clothing around his body did not seem to warm him; Harry could see small puffs of air escape his reptilian lips every time he exhaled. Wormtail grovelled at his master’s feet and quickly transfigured a shrub into a solid oak throne. Voldemort’s red eyes scanned the area and did not even pause when they passed over Harry, who let out a sigh of relief and stepped back to the edge of the clearing. Voldemort settled himself into the chair and clutched onto its arms.

“Wormtail,” he hissed.

“Yes my Lord?” the traitor shuddered, leaning forward in trepidation.

“Are all my faithful here? Is he here?”

Pettigrew nodded quickly and stood to his feet. He looked over the silent Death-Eaters and pointed to one who was kneeling to the side.

“Sssseverusss Sssnape,” Voldemort said with delight.

Harry saw the Death-Eater rise to his feet with agility and walk over to the Dark Lord. He knelt at his feet and kissed the hem of Voldemort’s robe.

“My Lord,” he said softly.

“Sssseverusss, my loyal one. My faithful one. Come closer.” Voldemort could not keep his eyes off the man at his heels.

Harry stood close to a tree and shivered. Even though he knew he wasn’t actually there, he felt as cold and as fragile as glass. It was never good to share thoughts with Voldemort, and he couldn’t tell if this had already happened, or was actually happening as he watched. So far, his scar had not caused him any pain, but he did not hold hopes of that lasting long.

Snape shuffled forward on his knees, his eyes focussed on the ground. Harry saw that his hands were held open and steady, although he suspected that the man was tense. Voldemort laid a hand to Snape’s head and gently removed the mask. When his face was finally free of the cloth, Snape slowly raised his eyes to meet his master’s.

“What news do you bring me, darling boy?” Voldemort asked, running a skeletal hand down Snape’s cheek. Harry cringed, although Snape did not so much as flinch.

“The Ministry has finally released the bodies of those who fell back to their families. They have spent many days searching for clues, but so far have no idea how you entered the building, nor how you left.”

Snape’s voice was low and steady as he recited these facts, his face its usual pale colour although Harry thought his lips were pressed together more firmly than usual. It gave him a sick pleasure in the base of his stomach to see the proud man at the feet of such a monster. “It has been confirmed that Sirius Black did fall through the curtain, and he will not be recovered.” Harry felt a sharp stab of pain in his chest as his godfather’s name was mentioned.

“And what of the boy, Sssseverusss? Where have they hidden the boy?” Voldemort asked eagerly.

Snape looked down, his hair swinging forward to cover most of his face.

“I don’t know where Potter is, my Lord. Dumbledore removed him from the care of his relatives within a week of our…visit to the Ministry. He is being remarkably tight-lipped about the boy’s location. I have asked him…”

“You do not know,” Voldemort’s voice was flat.

“I…,” Snape’s voice stumbled.

Harry held his breath as he waited to hear what Snape would say. He knew that Snape knew exactly where he was hidden.

“You do not know,” Voldemort repeated, a sliver of anger entering his already harsh voice.

“I beg your pardon, my Lord. I do not know,” Snape said, and hung his head lower. Harry could see a quick shiver run down his spine.

Voldemort moved the hand that had been stroking his face up to Snape’s hair and roughly pulled his head up until his neck was forced back at an uncomfortable angle. Harry stepped further back until his back was pressed into the tree.

“You disappoint me, Sssseverus,” the Dark Lord hissed, his eyes burning a brighter red. “What good are you to me if you cannot bring me information from the inside? Where is Harry Potter?” he screamed.

Snape’s eyes hardened for a split second then went back to their implacable stare. “I do not know where he is,” he lied.

Volemort’s eyes gleamed with white fury and he suddenly released Snape’s hair, causing him to fall backwards. Snape landed harshly on his elbows.

Voldemort rose slowly from his throne while Pettigrew whimpered at his feet. Harry looked around wildly – what was he supposed to do? If this was dream, how could he get out of here? The Death-Eaters had not moved from their positions; no one was looking in his direction. He pinched his thigh hard; even though it hurt, it was not enough to wake him up. He didn’t want to be here. Even if it wasn’t real, he didn’t want to see what was going to happen. And if it was real….

Even though he hated Snape with a passionate fury, he didn’t want to see him tortured or worse. He’d had enough of death, he was sick of it. He didn’t want to watch another person die. Not for him. Never for him.

“Lucius.”

A Death-Eater stood up from the centre of the group and removed his mask. His pony-tailed blonde hair hung with a silken sheen, and his face bore the impassive expression of a person attending a slightly boring dinner party.

“He has failed us again Lucius. What say you?”

Lucius Malfoy strode casually towards the throne and looked at Snape’s prone body with distaste. Snape looked at him with quietly controlled anger.

Malfoy’s mouth twisted in a moue of distaste and he wrinkled his nose. “He has failed to bring you what you require, my Lord. Again.” He sniffed. “Perhaps a demonstration to…..remind Severus of who he is, and who he follows?”

Voldemort smiled and sat back casually in his chair, his arm flung towards the two Death-Eaters locked in a staring competition. “As usual,” Voldemort chuckled, “your understanding of these matters mirrors my own. Let it begin.”

Malfoy bowed slightly to the Dark Lord and, with a small grin, kneed Snape in the face. Snape had been totally unprepared for the movement and took the full force of the hit. Harry heard the crunching of bone from where he was standing.

“Oh no,” Malfoy said with a false sense of distress, “I do believe that Severus has broken his nose again.”

Voldemort chuckled and said, “Rise up, my Death-Eaters. Rise up, my faithful. Show this one what we do to those that disappoint.”

Harry watched as the Death-Eaters rose swiftly to their feet and silently converged around Snape.

They fell on him like a pack of wild animals.

Harry couldn’t see Snape’s body under the thickness of flailing limbs kicking and punching. He could hear, though - his ears were filled with the sounds of pleasure, as the Death-Eaters laughed and joked while they pummelled the fallen man’s body. Snape was silent throughout the attack and Harry looked at Voldemort. The Dark Lord sat comfortably in his throne, observing the carnage with a grin. Harry squeezed his eyes shut and wished he were somewhere else. He didn’t want to see what remained of Snape’s body. He didn’t want to know what other tortures Voldemort had in store.

“Please wake up, please wake up,” he pleaded with himself, shaking his head and pressing his fists into his mouth. Harry could see one of Snape’s arms flung out on the ground, a dark patch of blood slowly expanding on the pristine white of his shirtsleeve. His upper torso was still hidden as the Death-Eaters crunched and twisted his bones, jumping and dancing around with murderous glee.

“Please, please, please, please,” Harry chanted, slapping himself in the face and praying to every deity he knew to let him get out of there, to let him leave now. A loud scream arose from within the pack of assailants. Harry had never heard it before, but he knew that it was the sound of Snape screaming in pain.

Harry gasped and sat up on his bed, his eyes trying to find something to focus on in the darkness of his room. His chest was filled with loathing toward the man who he’d just seen abused, hatred at the man’s very existence…but almost instantly, those feelings bled away and he was filled with the need to act. The need to save.

Harry jumped out of his bed and scrambled down the stairs, hands ready to grab the floo powder that would allow him to speak to Dumbledore.

 

 

He paced for what seemed like hours in the hallway, until the front door slammed open.

“Upstairs,” Dumbledore’s voice commanded as his eyes flicked over Harry. He gave a small nod and continued on his way to the second floor. “Dobby!”

The house-elf quickly appeared and followed the Headmaster up the stairs. Kingsley Shacklebolt and Remus Lupin passed through the open door, their arms carefully holding up the bloody form of Snape, who hung lifeless between them. His hair was streaked with gore, and Harry could smell the distinct odours of blood, urine and vomit clinging to his frame.

“Move!” Shacklebolt screamed with a worried look on his face, and Harry swiftly pressed himself against the wall, his head accidentally hitting it. He momentarily saw stars from the impact. As Lupin passed Harry, he gave him a small smile of concern, then the two Order members quickly but carefully took their fallen comrade up the stairs.

Madame Pomfey entered and shut the door decisively behind her.

“What can I do to help?” Harry asked.

She pursed her lips and, rolling her voluminous sleeves up said, “Stay out of the way.”

 

 

Harry sat at the kitchen table feeling useless, a cup of cold, forgotten tea at his elbow. As the dawn light filtered gently through the windows, he listened to the rapid footsteps that paced relentlessly in the rooms above. Occasionally, he overheard a door open and listened as Madame Pomfrey asked for potions and equipment in a hurried voice, then the door would slam shut and feet would begin to pace again.

The morning silence was rent with a loud scream of pain. Harry started and knocked over his teacup. The liquid ran a steady stream to the floor, then slowed, the sounds of drops falling loud in the silence of the kitchen. Before he had a chance to clean the mess, Dumbledore entered the room, his tread slow and heavy. Harry’s question was unspoken.

“He’s still alive,” Dumbledore said, attempting a smile. “He’s a lot tougher than you’d think.” Dumbledore’s voice cracked and Harry was alarmed to see tears welling in his eyes.

Harry took Dumbledore’s elbow and guided him to a chair, cleaned up the spilt tea, and prepared and served a fresh cup of tea for them both. They sipped their tea in silence, Harry staring at the widening beam of sunlight on the floor as he gave Dumbledore time to compose himself.

A loud honk drew Harry from his thoughts and Dumbledore returned a tartan handkerchief to his pocket.

“I’m sorry dear boy,” he said, patting Harry’s hand absently. “Dear boy, my poor dear boy.” He continued patting, and Harry knew he wasn’t talking about him.

“What’s wrong with Professor Snape, sir?” Harry asked. Having witnessed some of the brutal attack, he knew Snape’s injures to be extensive but was rattled by Dumbledore’s behaviour.

Dumbledore looked Harry in the eye and asked bluntly, “Do you really want to know?”

Harry nodded slowly, saying, “I don’t…want to, but I think it’s important for me to know. So I know,…so I can be aware of what to expect in the future.”

Dumbledore nodded in return and began the litany in an almost matter-of-fact voice.

“All his toes have been broken, and the ligaments from both ankles are torn. His left kneecap has been shattered and his right femur has fractured in three places. He has massive internal bleeding and one of his kidneys has been punctured. Two ruptured discs, five broken ribs. One lung punctured, one grazed. Garrote wounds to the neck. A dislocated jaw, a broken cheekbone, broken nose. He’ll be furious about that,” Dumbledore chuckled sadly. “Two black eyes. Bleeding from the ears, which could signify brain injury. That’s ignoring the damage done to his nervous system caused by prolonged exposure to the Cruciatus Curse.”

Dumbledore smiled weakly. “It would probably have been quicker if you’d asked what was right with him.”

Harry felt flabbergasted and sick to his stomach. He didn’t understand how someone could be so injured yet still be alive. “He…he’ll be okay, though, won’t he?”

Dumbledore sighed and stared at his cup. “Oh yes Harry, he will live. In time, he will recover. Let us not underestimate the persuasive powers of healing that Madame Pomfrey wields. Nor the power Severus has to heal himself.”

 

 

Harry tossed and turned in his bed, tangling himself in the covers and punching the pillow, but he could not get to sleep. After trying for an hour, he quietly got up and wrapped himself in his Invisibility Cloak. No doubt there would be an adult awake that would want to know why he wasn’t asleep, and he was in no mood for conversation.

As he snuck out of his room, he saw Dumbledore at the end of the passage, letting himself into Snape’s room. Without giving himself time to think, Harry followed him and stood in the open doorway.

Snape’s room was simply furnished. A bed, mirror, chest of drawers and two chairs were the only furniture. Extra pillows and a heavy quilt were piled neatly on one chair, and Dumbledore lowered himself into the other. Harry stepped silently into the room and stood with his back pressed to the wall.

After looking at the sleeping man for some minutes, Dumbledore leaned forward and gently stroked the pale, lifeless hand that rested on top of the covers. The dichotomy of their hands struck Harry; one large and long-fingered but quiescent, the other wrinkled and gnarled but active. Dumbledore stroked softly, slowly, a small smile on his face and a far-away look in his eyes.

Snape’s eyes flickered; he flinched and opened them suddenly. The panic soon dissipated as he saw his employer sitting quietly by his side.

“Albus,” he croaked.

“My dear boy,” Albus said, moving his hand to touch Snape gently on the cheek. “You had us worried there for a while.”

Snape let out a pained snort and closed his eyes. “Find it difficult to replace me, would you?”

Albus chuckled and sat back in his chair, clasped hands relaxing in his lap. “I’m glad to see you’re feeling better. I always know you’re on the mend when you can insult me.”

“That wasn’t an insult,” Snape murmured, gathering breath. “This is an….”

“Yes, yes, Severus,” Dumbledore chuckled, “I see your point.” The Headmaster looked at the injured man for a few seconds then asked, “Is there anything you want to tell me?”

The pained expression crossed Snape’s face again and he swallowed weakly. A look of dread filled his eyes.

“If you’re not feeling up to it, we can carry on this conversation later,” Dumbledore soothed. With that, Snape’s expression relaxed and he shook his head.

“Might as well get it over and done with,” he said. Dumbledore waited patiently while Snape gathered his thoughts. Harry silently lowered himself to rest on the floor. He was as curious as Dumbledore to know what had happened that night; both before and after his vision.

“I was called just after ten,” Snape began. “I left a message for you in the usual place in my chambers and left the grounds. I apparated to Malfoy’s manor. There were two other Death-Eaters there – Avery and Goyle. All of them seemed to be in a very good mood. They wouldn’t tell me where we were going - Lucius simply said there would be ‘much sport’ that night. We used a portkey, which left us in the middle of a forest somewhere. I’m not sure of the exact location.”

Dumbledore nodded and encouraged him to continue.

“After Pettigrew informed us of the usual, who was doing what and to whom, the Dark Lord appeared. He sat down and called me to him.” Snape paused. “I went to him Albus,” he said softly. “I was the first one he called. I didn’t even have an inkling.”

“Yes, my boy, go on,” Dumbledore murmured, caressing Snape’s hand again.

“He asked me where Potter was. I said he’d been moved from his relatives’ house and I didn’t know his location. I tried to make him believe that you didn’t trust me enough to tell me. He didn’t believe me and he asked me again. I couldn’t Albus, I couldn’t let him…” Snape’s voice broke and Dumbledore lifted a glass of water to his lips. Snape took a few sips then moved his head away to show he was finished.

Snape sunk back into the pillows and closed his eyes. “I couldn’t tell him Albus,” he continued, voice low and strong now. “If they’d have found out, Potter wouldn’t have lived to see the dawn. I couldn’t let them; I wouldn’t let them find him. And then he…got angry.”

Snape’s hands clenched and his lips tightened. Dumbledore insinuated one hand into Snape’s and clutched it tightly.

“He called Lucius over. I know now that they had the whole thing planned. They never had any intention of letting me go unpunished. The Dark Lord gave the word, Lucius kicked me, and then,…and then they…”

“Hush my boy,” Dumbledore said, a look of repressed fury on his face, although his voice was as soft as ever. “There’s no need for you to tell me anymore. We know what they did to you.”

“But you don’t!” Snape shouted, as he sat up angrily. He pushed Dumbledore away from him, recoiling into his own skin. “That’s not it! You don’t understand. You won’t ever understand.”

“Severus,” Dumbledore said sternly, trying to quell the man’s hysteria. “Stop this, before you make yourself sicker.”

“They had a vampire, Albus,” Snape roared; anguish wracking his normally stern face. “I tried to stay conscious but one of them hit me in the head. When I woke up, Lucius had his cane in my mouth - he was forcing me to keep it open.”

Dumbledore grabbed Snape’s wrist and held it tightly.

Snape’s voice lowered to a tortured whisper. “I saw him, Albus. He had the Mark. He stood over me and slit his wrist. I could see the blood dripping and I tried to get away, I fought with everything that I had, but Lucius had me pinned and I couldn’t control my muscles because of the Cruciatus and I tried not to breathe, I tried not to swallow, but he was digging into my throat and I didn’t want to, Albus.”

Snape’s face clenched at the memory of the assault and the sound of his erratic breathing filled the room. “I didn’t want to,” he repeated, his voice filled with emotion.

Dumbledore sat on the side of the bed and enfolded the man into his embrace. At first Snape fought him, then his strained body eased and he allowed himself to be held, almost against his will.

“I don’t deserve this, Albus,” he said, quite obviously meaning the display of affection.

“You have sacrificed so much,” Dumbledore said, squeezing him in one convulsive movement and lowering Snape’s shaking body back into the bed.

“I never expected to come out of this unscathed,” Snape said morosely. He looked at Dumbledore, disconcertion showing on his face as he waited for the inevitable barrage of questions.

“Why?”

Snape sighed and looked at his hands. He thought, shook his head minutely, then spoke. “I think his reasoning was that if you knew what I would become, you wouldn’t want me anymore, and I’d have no choice but to turn back to him. Or…take other, more permanent measures.”

Dumbledore contemplated the pattern of his robes while Snape waited, tense with anticipation.

“How much do you know about Muggles, Severus?” Albus asked. Snape narrowed his eyes in confusion.

“Yes, well,” Dumbledore chuckled, “perhaps you’ve been too busy to give them the full attention they deserve. They have a book, a very famous book, from which a lot of their major religions seem to draw heavily.”

“I take it you mean the Bible?” Snape asked in bewilderment.

“Ah yes, my dear boy. Shouldn’t assume anything with you, should I,” Dumbledore’s eyes lit up fondly.

“I’m not a complete moron, Albus,” Snape remarked dryly. Albus’ eyes twinkled.

“There’s a particular story I’ve always enjoyed from their Bible,” Dumbledore continued. “I don’t remember it exactly, but I know enough to get its point across. There was a man, a very wealthy man who had two sons. Now he decided to share his wealth between his two sons while he was still alive, so he could see how they used his bounty. One of his sons remained with him, helping him and being totally devoted to the father and their land. The other son left immediately, taking his wealth and squandering it without thought. When that son’s money ran out, and he was entirely without hope or friend, he decided to return to the father. He believed that, if he must endure suffering for the rest of his days, better to do it in the company of those who had once loved him then amongst strangers. Now when the father realised that his son had returned, he was overwhelmed with happiness, and called the rest of his family and friends to him to celebrate his good fortune. The prodigal son had returned.”

Snape’s breathing had slowed during the story, and his eyes were half-closed with weariness. “Seems rather unfair to the son that remained true.”

“That’s not the point of the story, Severus,” Dumbledore said, “although most people seem to make the same assumption. The point is this - that it didn’t matter what either of the sons had done; the father still loved them. And he was so happy when his lost son returned to him, his heart was so filled with gladness that he couldn’t help but rejoice.”

Dumbledore leaned over and whispered in Snape’s ear. “You have never been prodigal, my dear boy, but I have always thought of you as my son. There is nothing, nothing that you could ever do or ever say that will make me think less of you, or turn me from your side.”

Snape smiled wryly. Dumbledore placed a paternal kiss on his cheek and sat back in his chair.

“Albus?” Snape asked quietly.

“Yes, dear boy?”

“I don’t suppose you have any of those infernal lemon drops on you, do you?”

Dumbledore laughed and Snape’s eyes glinted with amusement.

Harry stood up slowly, the nerves in his feet tingling as blood rushed through his limbs again. He had felt uncomfortable witnessing the display between the two old friends but had been too curious to move. Now he had intruded enough.

As he glanced up one final time before turning away, his eyes caught the mirror hanging above Snape’s bed. Dumbledore stared at his reflection, gave a tiny nod, then looked away, rummaging in his robes for lemon drops.

 

 

Dumbledore returned to Hogwarts to oversee the general running of the school, and to make sure that Voldemort’s spies were not alerted to anything unusual. After a day or two, Poppy also left, but checked her patient every evening, much to his annoyance. Dumbledore asked Remus Lupin to stay at Grimmauld Place indefinitely, which he was pleased to do. He enjoyed spending time with Harry and, even though the very walls reminded him of their shared loss, it made his heart easier to know he was doing something that Sirius would have wished to do himself.

That’s not to say that Snape was pleased with the arrangements. The morning after the conversation Harry had witnessed between the Potions Master and Dumbledore, Snape had begun to insist loudly and frequently that he be allowed to return to his quarters at Hogwarts. Harry, laying on his stomach on his bed and trying to do some homework, had snickered when he’d heard Madame Pomfrey speak to Snape in the same tone of voice she used when Harry complained that he wanted to leave the infirmary after his frequent injuries. He was not well, and would remain exactly where he was until she said otherwise. End of story.

While Lupin generally left Harry to himself, for which Harry was grateful, they usually spent some time together after lunch in the library. Now that the house had been thoroughly cleaned, the rooms were comfortable, if not modern. They would sit in the fading afternoon light and read silently, or engage in slow conversation as Lupin attempted to teach Harry the finer points of chess. Even though Harry had not seen his best friend in weeks, he looked forward to the day he would be able to shut Ron up by finally beating him in a game.

The two men raised their heads as they heard the Headmaster’s steady pace coming down the stairs.

“Ah, there you are,” Dumbledore said, and helped himself to a cup of tea.

“And how is our patient?” Lupin asked with a grin.

“Complaining so much you’d think we’d engineered the whole scheme ourselves. He keeps insisting he’s well enough to be moved, while I keep insisting that I have never gone against Poppy’s directions, and am not silly enough to start now.”

Lupin chuckled. “He was saying much the same when I took him lunch. Has a one-track mind when he wants, doesn’t he? Now Harry, watch this move.”

Harry watched his bishop be completely destroyed by one of Lupin’s pawns.

“Damn,” he said lightly. “Didn’t see that coming.”

“It’s all about the art of misdirection,” Lupin said cunningly, and poured himself and Harry another cup of tea.

“How are you getting on these days, Harry?” Dumbledore asked quietly. Harry swallowed and paid a great deal of attention to his chess pieces.

“Good,” he said finally. “I think I’m good.”

Dumbledore smiled and patted his shoulder. “I’m very glad to hear it. And you, Remus? How are you and Severus faring?”

Lupin grimaced. “Well, suffice to say I’ll never be his favourite person, but tolerably, tolerably. At least he speaks to me now, when I take him his medicine or meals. He even hinted that he’s slightly put out that he won’t be able to make a batch of Wolfsbane Potion in the near future. Purely because he enjoys making it, of course, not because it would help me.”

He and Dumbledore laughed. Both knew that the last thing Snape would want to be accused of was caring. As their laughter died away, a question that had been playing on Harry’s mind broke through.

“Headmaster, does Professor Snape know how you found him? I don’t even know that, and I was there. Well, for some of it.”

The look that passed between Lupin and Dumbledore showed that Harry’s dream had not been kept entirely secret. Dumbledore nodded at Lupin, who sat back with a sigh and answered Harry.

“We’ve always known that what Severus was doing was dangerous, but once he was in Voldemort’s good graces again, he refused to back away. The Headmaster cast a spell on him, with his full knowledge and consent, of course. It works in a similar way to a Muggle alarm I believe, although it doesn’t make a sound. Its purpose was to immediately apparate Severus as close as possible to Hogwarts’ grounds. It had never gone off before, because it was only triggered to work when the body it possessed was in extreme danger.”

“Extreme danger as in being tortured or extreme danger… “ Harry’s voice trailed off.

“Extreme danger as in close to death,” Dumbledore continued. “It monitors a number of things, including a person’s heart rate, blood pressure, blood loss and build-up of spells. Suffice to say, Professor Snape would not let me cast it upon him until we had it keyed to such a precise degree that only near-fatal injuries would cause it to activate. He didn’t want it going off in ordinary circumstances.”

“Ordinary?” Harry whispered.

“Just the general way that Voldemort shows displeasure to his followers. But I don’t want you to think of that now, Harry. Thanks to your quick-mindedness, we were alert and ready when Severus appeared at the edge of Hogwarts. His injuries were quite severe, and your warning made sure he didn’t die that night, my boy.”

Harry looked at the floor and shook his head. “I wasn’t,…that is, I didn’t do anything brave. I would have done the same for anyone in that situation. I know that Professor Snape and I…don’t get along, but I don’t wish him dead. Not anymore,” he said uncomfortably.

“And have you told him that?” Dumbledore enquired.

“I haven’t spoken to him since before the end of term. Last time he was here I was…still very angry with him. And at myself. I haven’t had the opportunity to make amends. I’m not sure what I’d say to him, or if he’d even see me. I still don’t particularly like him,” he added defiantly.

Lupin laughed. “I can understand that, Harry. Severus is a hard man to take. He certainly doesn’t make it easy to be friends with him.”

“I don’t want to be his friend,” Harry remarked, “only, I guess I should thank him for what he’s done for me, both now and in the past. Does he…does he know that I saw him in my dreams, sir?”

Dumbledore nodded his head slowly, his eyes piercing Harry’s. “Yes, my boy. I felt obliged to tell him of the full situation, even though I knew he wouldn’t look too kindly on you having access to his personal life again.”

Harry heart stopped. “You know about the…that?”

Dumbledore did not move, although Lupin asked curiously, “What do you mean?”

Harry took a deep breath and made the decision to own up to his past actions. “I looked in Professor Snape’s Pensieve, Remus.”

“Harry!” Lupin said, horrified. “How could you do something like that?”

“I didn’t know,” Harry exclaimed. “I mean,…I knew what it was, but I didn’t mean to look into his. I just sort of fell in. I’ve felt really ashamed of what happened that day, but he’s never given me the opportunity to apologise. And I would have, but he refused to keep teaching me Occlumency, and every time I saw him in class he was just so horrible, so Snape to me, that I decided he didn’t deserve my apologies. I really didn’t mean it,” he finished weakly.

“Professor Snape is a very private man,” Dumbledore said remotely. “You could imagine, or perhaps you can’t yet, what it’s like for a man of his nature to know that his most private thoughts, some of his worst memories, are known to a person who has made it quite obvious throughout the years despises him.”

“I never told anyone!” Harry said hotly. “I didn’t, and I won’t. Not even about this. I know how to keep a secret, sir.”

“Has Professor Snape ever used the memories he saw in your mind against you, Harry?” he asked softly.

Harry thought hard. He’d suffered numerous taunts from Snape in his school years, but realised that the memories Snape had tore from his mind during the Occlumency lessons had never been mentioned out of that room.

“No sir,” Harry whispered.

Dumbledore smiled wryly. “It seems that both of you, when it comes down to it, are honourable men.”

Lupin looked like he finally understood something. “So that’s why he…,” and his voice trailed off as he looked at Harry with wide eyes.

“Sir?” Harry looked to Dumbledore.

“Yes, Harry.”

“Do you think it would be alright, that is, if it didn’t make things worse…would I be able to speak to Professor Snape? I…I’ve got some things to say to him.”

Dumbledore’s face softened, and he reached over again to squeeze Harry’s shoulder. “I should think that would go very well, my boy.”


	2. Chapter 2

This house has become my prison and my refuge.

I wander the halls, and expect him to be at the end of each corridor, an open bottle in one hand and a wicked grin on his face that reminds me of the way he was in his youth. Before his hell on earth began, before the years wizened and hardened his features, before he was turned grey with pain.

God, how I hate him for leaving me, and god, how I miss him.

He never knew when we were at school. That was something that made us laugh the last few years. All that time, I had felt something for him, something different to what he knew, or what he even suspected. He used to shake his head and marvel at that; at my own constancy and his own obliviousness. Of course I could never have told him while we were still at school, it would have ruined our friendship. All of our friendships. I don’t think James suspected a thing. And Peter…

I won’t think about him. Not now, I don’t have the luxury at the moment. But just once in my life, I can picture how it would be to tear someone’s throat out and not feel a single shred of regret. And the day that happens, my howl will be one of freedom.

Harry doesn’t know what was between us. I don’t know how to bring it up, and I don’t think it even matters anymore. What should I say to him?

Harry, I loved your godfather.

Harry, your godfather loved me.

Harry, I love him still.

He looks so much like his parents. I have to keep reminding myself that he is not them, not the sum of their parts, but something new and unique. He seems like a giving boy, a very gracious boy, but we aren’t that close.

Harry, your godfather and I were lovers.

A small part of me _did_ blame him after Sirius died. If only…there are so many if only’s. If only Harry had remembered the mirrors. If only he’d blocked Voldemort out. If only Severus had helped him. If only Dumbledore had protected Sirius better. If only I had been there. If only Sirius hadn’t rushed to the rescue.

If only I had been there.

If only Sirius had listened.

If only Severus hadn’t goaded him.

If only Harry had stopped to think.

If only I had been there.

Harry, your godfather loved me.

Harry, I love him still.

 

 

Harry awoke that night to screams. For once, they were not his.

“Severus, please, calm down. I’m not going to hurt you,” Remus said with exasperation and remorse. He fought against Snape’s flailing body, trying to restrain the man without exacerbating his injuries.

“Don’t do it,” Snape cried, petrified.

Harry stood awkwardly at the door, his hair and glasses askew. “Professor?”

“Harry, help me,” Remus asked, clutching Snape’s wrists tightly. Harry moved slowly towards the bed, then placed his hands carefully on Snape’s knees, pushing down so the man couldn’t kick anymore.

“Potter!” Snape exclaimed, wrenching his hands from Remus’ and grabbing Harry by the front of his pyjamas. “You’ve got to stop him. You’ve got to make him listen!”

“It’s okay, sir,” Harry said, starting to become frightened. His face was inches away from Snape’s. He could easily see the wild eyes rolling in his head, feel his humid breath panting on his face. “It’s alright.”

“Don’t let him get me. I didn’t know. _I didn’t know_!”

“Professor?” Harry said, looking at Remus in fear. Remus shook his head and gently disengaged Snape’s hands from Harry’s chest.

“He doesn’t know what’s going on,” Remus said sadly. “I think he thinks – “

“Black, you bastard!” Snape screamed, voice cracking with emotion. “You fucker, I don’t deserve this!”

“Professor please,” Harry implored. “It’s alright. You’re alright.”

Remus’ lips twisted and he struggled to maintain composure. Snape stared at Harry like he was the only thing keeping him sane.

“James?” he asked, like he’d never seen him before.

“Nu-yes,” Harry said, seeing Remus move away out of the corner of his eye. Lupin huddled against the wall, his back shaking as he cried silently.

“James. Potter.”

“Yes Prof--, Severus,” Harry tried to smile. “It’s alright now, you need to relax. You need to lie back down.”

“He’s coming for me. He’s going to get me.”

“No one’s going to get you. It was all a mistake. Everything’s fine now.”

“Does Dumbledore know what’s going on?” Snape asked, his voice innocent and filled with hurt. Harry stared at Remus’ back. Remus was no help.

Harry bit his lip and tried to keep his voice calm. “The Headmaster knows everything. He’ll keep you safe. He promised.”

He guided Snape’s sweating, shaking body down until he lay flat. Snape didn’t take his eyes off him. Lupin and Black were a distant memory.

“Sleep now,” Harry said, palming away a tear that had escaped down Snape’s cheek. “It’s alright, I’ll protect you. Siri--Black can’t hurt you now. Lupin can’t hurt you now. Go to sleep.”

“Lupin,” Snape breathed as his eyes closed.

Remus turned from the wall, his eyes puffy and red. Harry could see how much the memory had hurt him.

“Thank you, Harry,” he whispered, laying a gentle hand on his shoulder. “I’ll take care of him now.”

 

 

Harry stood awkwardly in the corridor outside of Snape’s room. Remus had entered a few minutes ago, and Harry could hear their low voices making general conversation as Remus delivered Snape’s medicines to him. He heard Remus’ warm laugh and then the man was standing in front of Harry.

“Go on, Harry, I told him you wanted to see him.”

“Does he remember--?”

“No. And I thought it best not to tell him. It will only upset him further.”

Harry nodded silently, his eyes wide as Remus returned downstairs. After a few deep breaths, Harry peeked his head around the door and tapped cautiously on the inside wall.

“Professor?”

Snape was sitting up in the bed, a few pillows propping him up against the headboard. He was wearing what looked like a white night shirt under his open black bathrobe, and Harry was pleased to see that his injuries had apparently all been healed. In Harry’s mind, he saw Snape as he had looked the night of his vision – head hang low in pain, hair lank with sweat, body stained with blood. Harry blinked and took a closer look at the man in front of him. The hair was unbloodied, and hung to his shoulders neatly. The head was held high, and the eyes gleamed with their usual ferocity.

“You may come in Potter. I’ve already been alerted to the fact that you wish to speak to me. Make it quick, I’ve better things to do.”

Harry stepped cautiously into the room, wondering if he should sit down or stand near the door in case he needed to make a quick get-away. Snape growled and pointed to the chair. Harry lowered himself into the seat, and looked at his clenched hands in his lap.

“Well?” The cold voice broke his train of thought.

“I was…how are you feeling, sir?” Harry was ashamed to hear his voice rise to an unusually high pitch.

Snape smirked and said “Never better. There’s nothing like a quiet Sunday afternoon stroll to get one’s blood flowing.”

Harry blushed and Snape said, “Get on with it, idiot.”

“I…I,” Harry took a deep breath and decided to just go for it, or else he’d be stammering all afternoon. “I wanted to thank you, sir. For protecting me. I saw what he said to you. I saw what they did to you, and I just wanted to say that no one’s ever done anything like that for me, and I’m sorry you went through that. I’m really sorry, sir. And grateful. Sir.”

Snape’s expression grew pensive and he looked over Harry’s shoulder. “Your mother did something like that for you.”

Harry lowered his gaze to the floor. He’d tried to make things better, and Snape had to go and ruin it again. Harry didn’t want to think of the past, of all the mistakes he’d made, of all the things he’d got wrong. He had a simple purpose – apologise to the man who’d saved his life yet again, make some sort of peace within himself and go back to contemplating his existence. No more arguments, no more fighting, no more pain. He scrubbed his face harshly with his hands.

“How much did you see?” Snape asked sharply.

Harry considered lying but meant to continue as he’d started. “Only until they started beating you, sir. I managed to wake up during that.”

Snape appeared to relax into his pillows and he said gruffly, “Good. There are some things that are not suitable for a child to see, even if that child is the illustrious Harry Potter.”

“I’m not a child!” Harry retorted angrily. “You can’t have gone through what I’ve been through and still remain an innocent.”

Instead of taking the opportunity to insult Harry further (as Harry all but expected him to do), Snape blinked and said slowly, “You may be right, Mr Potter. And don’t look so surprised. At one point in your life, it was bound to happen. I can only say that I am thrilled beyond measure to bear witness to an event which will, no doubt, occur with the frequency of a total solar eclipse.”

Harry grinned, the tension leaving his body instantly. Snape was still a bastard, but at least in this mood, he was an amusing bastard.

Snape looked at Harry’s grin with a grimace of distaste. “Is there anything else?”

Harry’s grin quickly faded. “No sir,” he said, standing up quickly. “I just wanted to say…well, I’ve said it. I’ll leave you alone now.”

Harry walked to the open door quickly, eager to escape.

“Potter.”

He froze, then turned slowly.

“You could have done many things that night, yet you chose to do what you thought was the most noble. I’ve been informed by the Headmaster that my injuries were quite severe, and…well, never mind. I wanted to thank you Potter.”

“Thank me?” Harry said wonderingly.

“Your actions saved my life. It is customary to thank someone for that, isn’t it?” Snape snapped.

“Yes sir. And you’re welcome. I…well, I was glad too. You’ve done it for me a few times in the past, after all.”

Snape’s lip curled. “Don’t go all soft on me boy. Let us just assume that we’re even.”

Harry nodded and, with a shy smile, left the room. Snape leaned back on his pillows and contemplated the cracks in the ceiling.

 

 

The next afternoon found Harry bored again. Lupin had to leave the house on Order business, Dumbledore was too busy to visit, Madame Pomfrey was not due for hours, and Dobby, whilst amusing, was tiring after an hour’s solid contact.

Harry knocked softly on Snape’s closed door.

“Yes?” A mistrustful voice was heard.

“It’s me sir. Harry Potter,” Harry said, then almost slapped his forehead in annoyance of his own stupidity. Of course it was him, how many other students were in the house?

A few seconds silence, then the deep voice said, “Come in.”

Harry opened the door and saw Snape placing his wand on the bedside table. He hesitated until Snape sighed and pointed him towards the chair again.

Snape crossed his arms over his chest and looked expectantly at Harry. Harry raised his eyebrows and looked back at him.

“Merlin, it’s like trying to pull teeth from a Cornish pixie,” Snape said, rubbing the bridge of his nose in exasperation. “Do you have a reason to be here, Mister Potter, or are you trying to annoy me to death?”

Harry grinned and pushed his glasses up until they rested comfortably on his face. “I was bored sir, and thought you may be too. We’re the only ones in the house and I thought, maybe we could do something together to amuse ourselves.”

Snape stared at him in astonishment. Harry gulped, perhaps that hadn’t come out the way he’d intended.

“I mean,” he continued quickly, “I’ve been bored out of my mind and they say that a change is as good as a holiday.” Even Harry blanched at how pathetic that sounded, but in fact, he was telling the truth. He was so keen for a change in scenery that anything that broke the monotony of his situation was to be viewed with interest.

Snape stared at him like he was a trail of pus dribbling down one of his immaculate black vests.

“Can I get you something to eat?” Harry asked feebly.

“Not hungry,” was the quick retort.

“How about a game of chess? Remus says I’m getting pretty good at it.”

“What a wise choice, Mister Potter, since it’s obvious I know nothing of strategy,” Snape said sullenly.

“Would you like me to read to you sir? Just till you get tired, then I’ll leave.”

“Oh, what a shame. And here I was hoping you’d watch me while I slept,” Snape said wryly.

Harry took a deep breath. Merlin, but the man was infuriating! “I’m afraid the only Potions text in the house is my textbook. Siri--the library isn’t very good.”

Snape said acridly, “Do you have interests apart from Quidditch, Mister Potter?”

“Of course I do,” Harry said, confused.

“Well, do me the ultimate compliment of assuming my intelligence is at least on par with yours. I do have interests outside of my employ. Read anything. The mere sound of you butchering the English language should be enough to put the most alert person into a coma.”

Harry grinned and pulled a well-worn Quidditch magazine out of his back pocket. He flattened it out roughly on his lap and held it up so its cover was visible to Snape.

“Good Lord,” Snape sighed, and moved until he was lying comfortably on his side facing Harry. His eyes closed and the expression on his face was that of one soon approaching the guillotine.

Harry began to read, hesitantly at first but, after his first few stumbles had not resulted in Snape snorting or insulting him, continued more confidently until, after fifteen minutes, Harry noticed Snape’s chest moving up and down slowly, his breathing deep and relaxed.

Harry got up quietly and stood over the sleeping man. The covers had slipped off his shoulder and Harry unthinkingly pulled them up until they covered the man properly.

Snape’s face was softer in repose, the deep lines of his face still visible, but not as menacing when they were still. Harry bit the inside of his cheek. He didn’t know how he felt about his hard taskmaster anymore, but he was glad that he was still alive.

Harry slowly pulled together the curtains covering the window so Snape would not be woken by the afternoon light shining in his face. He walked to the door and started to pull it shut but stopped.

“I don’t hate you anymore, Professor,” Harry whispered, more to say it out loud then to have it heard by anyone.

As Harry gently closed the door, he heard a mumbled, “Oh good.”

 

 

After a few more days, Madame Pomprey allowed Snape to move from his bed, although Dumbledore insisted that he remain hidden. It had been too quiet lately, and Dumbledore feared a resurgence in Death-Eater activity that would result in the exposure and death of the two hidden wizards. When it was obvious that Snape was capable of moving around himself, Dumbledore asked Lupin to leave Grimmauld Place, as there were other locations and other tasks he could help in.

A week passed quietly. Dobby continued to ‘do’ for the household and, although Harry was still extremely bored, did not go out of his way again to find Snape. It was one thing to be glad that a person was still alive, it was another to constantly and actively seek their company.

Early afternoon found him, as usual, heading towards the library, but on this day he found the room occupied. Snape was sitting in a high-backed chair, a collection of mouldy books stacked near his feet. He held a slim volume in his hand and was reading it intently. An open inkwell rested nearby, and a quill leaked slightly on a piece of parchment covered in meticulous, cursive writing.

“Sorry sir,” Harry said as he entered the room. “I didn’t know you were in here. I’ll leave you alone.”

“That won’t be necessary Potter,” Snape replied, eyes not leaving the book. “I will not disturb you, and, if your only intention is to do the same, there will be no problems if we continue to occupy the same space.”

Harry looked at him warily, trying to see if he was being tricked, but the Potions Master ignored him. Harry sat in the other chair, and picked up the book he’d been reading yesterday. Whilst Transfigurations was not his favourite subject, it beat reading most of the stuff that was on the shelves.

Harry was stuck on a particular piece of the text and looked up with a scowl. He noticed Snape was staring at the wall with an abstract look on his face. It was obvious he was in deep concentration, and his hand had tightened around the book so much, the spine was starting to bend.

“Professor?” Harry said.

“Professor Snape?”

Snape’s head snapped towards Harry. With a small movement of his eyes, Harry indicated to the book in Snape’s hand. Snape glanced down, and slowly released his grip.

“Are you alright, sir?” Harry asked. It wouldn’t do to have the man make himself sick after such a long convalescence.

“Just thinking, Potter. You’ll notice I’m able to do it without too much of a strain appearing on my face.”

Harry grinned and flung his leg over the arm of his chair. “No offence sir, but you don’t usually show that many expressions. I think the appearance of a new one might make people sit up and take notice.”

“I don’t have that many expressions? How intriguing. Pray tell, Potter, what would you say about the one I’m displaying now?” Snape asked dryly.

“That’s the look that tells me you’re secretly amused by something that’s just happened, but there’s no way you’re going to let on, so you’ll just pretend to be annoyed at something and yell at the nearest available person. Since I’m the only one here, please feel free to use me,” Harry chuckled.

“Indeed. I didn’t realise you were normally so magnanimous. Tell me, since you are the current expert on my facial expressions, what others have you catalogued?”

Harry’s forehead scrunched in concentration. He wasn’t sure if he should be speaking in such a casual way to his teacher, but it was the holidays, and he couldn’t lose any House points. At least, he didn’t think so.

“Well, there’s your ‘ _Oh Merlin, what have I done to deserve this class?_ ’ look, the ‘ _I can’t believe Dumbledore said that_ ’ look, the ‘ _It’s about time somebody else paid attention to the Slytherins_ ’ look and, my personal favourite, because I think I’ve seen it directed towards me nearly every day I’ve been at Hogwarts, the ‘ _I’m doing everything in my power to not strangle you, you incompetent fool_ ’ look.”

Snape struggled to hide his amusement. “I hadn’t realised I was so transparent, or that you were so adept at reading expressions, Mister Potter.”

“It’s a gift,” Harry said cheekily. “So, do you have any other expressions?”

“One or two,” Snape replied cautiously, and returned to perusing his book.

 

 

Snape couldn’t sleep. The potions Poppy made him take for the pain occasionally gave him insomnia, so he decided to search through the kitchen cupboards to see if Black had left a bottle of booze hidden somewhere. “Not bloody likely, knowing him,” he thought bitterly.

The lights were off so he cast Lumos to see where he was going.

“Hello,” Harry said.

Snape cancelled the spell and lowered his wand. Harry had some candles burning in an ornate candelabra, and he watched as it dripped wax onto the kitchen table.

“The elf won’t be pleased with cleaning that up,” he said as he hobbled over.

“He won’t mind,” Harry shrugged. “Would you like some tea? I just made it.”

Snape nodded gingerly and sat down. How he wished he were back to his fulls strength! He was used to striding, not inching along like an old man.

Harry got a clean mug from the counter and poured him some tea, pushing the sugar and milk jar closer to him.

“I don’t suppose there’s any alcohol in this godforsaken place?” Snape asked, dropping a sugar cube into the steaming brew.

Harry grinned. “Not that I’ve found anyway. I can ask Dobby if you like.”

“Please,” Snape said, holding his hand out. “Don’t wake the little beast. I need rest, not excitement.”

Harry sat down again and they listened to the occasional hiss of a water droplet being burned in the wick.

“Can’t sleep?” Harry asked.

Snape shook his head. “Damn potions,” and smirked at Harry’s chuckle. “And you? Isn’t it a bit early to get up, or a bit late to still be up?”

Harry hunched down, wrapping his hands around his cup. “It’s a special day.”

Snape raised an enquiring eyebrow.

“It’s going to be my birthday. In approximately--” and he squinted at the coach clock above the stove “ –eight minutes.”

“Ah. Happy birthday then.”

“You should at least wait until it’s after midnight,” Harry chuckled.

They drank in companionable silence. Harry rose and refilled their cups. Snape started to feel his eyes droop with tiredness.

“How old will you be?” he asked, before he embarrassed himself entirely by falling asleep in front to the brat and snoring into his mug.

“Eighteen.”

“Ah.”

“What, no pearls of wisdom? No speeches about impending adult responsibility?”

“When have you ever listened to a word I’ve said anyway?”

“You’d be surprised,” Harry said wryly.

The coach clock ticked over and the slow gongs heralded in the new day. Harry smiled at the candles wistfully.

“Happy birthday, Potter.”

Harry looked up in surprise. He’d forgotten the man was in the room with him. He’d never had anyone with him to see in his birthday before. He expected scorn, or a begrudging tone, but Snape had said it almost as if he’d meant it. “Thank you sir.”

“No cake? No presents?” Snape teased lightly.

Harry blushed. “They’ll come soon enough. Ron and Hermione always send me something, so does Hagrid. Dobby’s made me a cake in the past, so I guess I know what we’ll be eating for breakfast.”

“And when you blow out your candles this year, what will you wish for?” It wasn’t any of his business, he had no right to know, but was curious.

“The same thing I’ve always asked for every year. Just to be happy,” he said self-consciously, knowing that he probably sounded childish, but it was the truth.

“You do realise that part of the tradition means you cannot tell anyone of your wish, or it won’t come true?”

“You’ll just have to help me make it come true then sir.”

Snape chuckled lightly. “Don’t waste your wishes on something that can never happen, Potter. It’s not my job to make you happy.”

“I know sir, and if you don’t mind me saying so, you’re damn good at it.”

Snape snorted. He felt warm and tired, so retired to his chambers.

Harry watched the candles burn themselves out.

 

 

The next day, after he’d eaten lunch with Dobby in the kitchen, Harry returned to the library and was pleased to see that Snape had already taken up his former seat. They nodded politely to each other and Harry continued reading where he’d left off.

After some time, Snape got up and sat at the desk in the corner, absent-mindedly rubbing the feathered end of his quill back and forth over his chin as he read the parchment in front of him.

“Working hard, sir?” Harry’s voice broke his concentration.

“Yes, I am. I’m attempting to rewrite some of Shakespeare’s works. I don’t like the way _Macbeth_ panned out.”

“When you’re done with that, can you have a go at _Romeo and Juliet_? I thought the ending was a bit improbable,” he teased.

Snape clearly did not know what was more unusual–that Harry had read Shakespeare, or that he understood it.

“Are you always so sarcastic, sir, or is it just when you’ve been ill?” Harry enquired, making his way over to the table.

Snape didn’t bother answering him. Harry attempted to unobtrusively see what was written on the parchment.

Snape sighed. “Mister Potter, since you are so eager to read something that is clearly none of your business, perhaps you will simply do me the courtesy of asking if you can stick your big nose into my business?”

Harry fought to keep the grin off his face. “Sir, may I stick my big nose into your business?”

Snape sighed again. “I may as well let you, since you will no doubt find a way in the future of invading my privacy again.”

Harry froze at the implication. “I…I didn’t mean to do anything like that, sir. I don’t want to do that again.”

Snape’s eyes narrowed. “So you admit that what you did in the past was an invasion, a very gross invasion of my privacy?”

Harry lowered his eyes in anger and embarrassment. “Yes sir. I’m sorry.”

Snape’s voice was rough. “Saying sorry has never changed anything, boy, and the sooner you realise that, the sooner those words will have no power over you.”

Harry moved to leave the room, but Snape gripped him tightly by the wrist.

“Stop. It is a foolish man that does not learn from his mistakes, or attempt to act upon them. Sit. Read. Think.”

With that, Snape pressed the parchment into Harry’s hand, and pushed him away.

Harry carried the parchment gingerly, unsure of what he was going to find. He moved closer to the window so the afternoon light would clearly shine upon it. It appeared to be a poem of some sort.

 

 _By one, the vessel carries.  
By two, the vessel keens.  
By three, it is a yearning.  
By four, it is a need.  
By five, the senses waken.  
By six, the passions flare.  
By seven and seven and seven,  
The vessel must spill or be damned._

 

Harry read it again. It didn’t appear to make a whole lot of sense; it was just a poem about a container of some sort. He looked up and found Snape’s piercing gaze upon him.

“Well?” The Professor asked warily.

“I don’t really get it, sir. It sounds like it’s talking about a bowl, or a cup or something. And I’m not sure what the numbers mean. Time, maybe?”

Snape nodded slowly. “Not bad Potter. Not bad at all.”

Harry felt confused; he’d never been complimented by this teacher before. In fact, he couldn’t remember the last time Snape had said anything remotely nice to someone outside of Slytherin.

“Do you know what it means, Professor?” he asked, burning with curiosity now.

Snape’s face went blank, the look of distrust Harry was used to seeing made its reappearance. “It is a description of a curse, Potter, a very Dark one. It would appear that my latest dealing with the Dark Lord did not leave me entirely unscathed.”

“Oh, you mean about the--?” and Harry clapped his hands across his mouth, his eyes widening as he realised his blunder.

Small dots of colour appeared on Snape’s face as his jaw clenched. “What do you mean?” he hissed.

“I…er…nothing, sir” Harry stammered, his earlier desire for complete honesty flying out of the window as the man in front of him transformed into his usual Evil Potions Master persona.

“Liar!” Snape cried as he strode towards Harry, only stopping when he was so close Harry had to crane his neck to look him in the eye.

“Tell me what you mean,” Snape said with quiet fury.

“I’m sorry sir, I didn’t mean to–“

“Enough with your useless apologies. Speak!” Snape yelled.

“I…I know about the vampire,” Harry whispered, face burning with shame as he closed his eyes.

For a few seconds, Harry could hear the sound of Snape’s fast breathing and then, with the sound of a slight stumble, he was gone from the room.

Harry lowered himself slowly into a chair, once again distraught that his efforts to accomplish a sort of peace with Snape were so very obviously futile.

 

 

Harry did not see Snape the rest of the day. After asking Dobby, he found out that the man had retired to his rooms, refusing Dobby’s requests for entry.

The next morning Harry stayed in his room, and Dobby bought him food and told him nothing had changed.

The Potions Master wasn’t in the library that afternoon.

By the next day, when Harry had still not seen Snape, he went to his room and knocked quietly on the door. Hearing no response, he ventured in. The room was empty.

Snape was gone.


	3. Chapter 3

Snape knew he was dreaming when he found himself walking along the deserted road to Hogsmeade with his Death-Eater mask in his hand. The only time he left Hogwarts at night was when he was forced to; whether by one of Dumbledore’s ‘Faculty Bonding Nights’ or a summons from the Dark Lord. When that occurred, he would grab his mask, stuff it into a hidden pocket in his robes and walk quickly away from Hogwarts until he could Apparate. He’d never taken the time to walk leisurely before.

The moon hung low and full in the sky and the only sound was the soft crackle of gravel under Snape’s feet. The road stretched long and lonely in front of him. He looked behind and, in the clear light, could just make out the turrets of the castle.

As dreams went, this was a good one.

He continued walking in silence, enjoying the sensation of stretching his legs and filling his lungs with cool fresh air. He felt calm, at peace with himself. Those sensations alone were enough to make him wish he’d dream like this every night.

He heard a scuffling sound behind him and turned quickly. A small figure could be seen on the side of the road. Snape grabbed his wand and held it defensively in front of himself.

“Who’s there?” he asked imperiously, his voice carrying well in the silence. The figure walked forward slowly.

Snape stood his ground. Whoever it was, the height indicated they weren’t adult, so his fear lessened.

“Potter?” he said, brow furrowing. “What are you doing here?”

Then he gasped. This was not the Harry Potter he recognised from reality. This Harry Potter was one from over two years ago. He was shorter, that was obvious, and his eyes looked glassy and confused. His right hand clenched tightly around his wand, his left was filled with a green, ribbon-like plant.

“Potter?” he asked again, moving closer to the still boy. Close up, he realised where he’d seen Potter looking like this.

During the Tri-Wizard Tournament, Harry had consumed gillyweed so he could breathe underwater. Snape realised that the young boy was drenched, shivering with cold and shock.

“Are you alright?” Snape asked, feeling a bit foolish because he knew it was only a dream, and also knew perfectly well that Harry had completed the task without coming to harm.

He kneeled in front of the boy to get a better look at his condition, when Harry threw his arms around his neck, clutching on tightly and panting in his ear. Snape could feel the cold water soaking into his robe.

“Shh,” he said, arms moving awkwardly to pat the shaking boy on the back. “Shh.”

Harry’s breathing didn’t slow down; Snape could feel the rapid exhalations against his neck.

“It’s alright,” he repeated, pulling his robe around the shivering body and holding him tightly against his chest. “It’s alright, boy, you won’t be harmed. I’ll protect you.”

Snape gasped in shock when he felt Harry’s cool lips touch his neck. Harry’s mouth moved slowly against his skin as if to taste his reactions.

“Don’t,” Snape whispered, trying to pull himself free of the boy. He felt a warm tongue touch his cheek.

“Please don’t,” he moaned, his eyes clenched tightly shut as he willed himself to wake.

“Please,” Harry said as he pulled back from Snape’s embrace and, with a quick flick of his wand, made a small cut at the base of his throat.

“Please,” Harry repeated, pressing his wounded throat to Snape’s mouth. “I want you to.”

Snape swooped. Without a single second’s hesitation, his mouth latched on greedily to the base of Harry’s neck and he almost swooned as the first drop of blood fell onto his tongue.

So good, so rich.

So powerful.

So pure.

Harry squirmed in his embrace and pressed tighter against him. “Please,” he whimpered, stroking his hair as Snape sucked frantically at his neck.

It wasn’t enough. It wasn’t coming out quickly enough. Snape ripped at Harry’s shirt, seeking more skin to press against, more flesh to burst open with blood. He could feel his prick rising with excitement; the blood he was sucking from Harry seemed to go straight to his groin.

“Harry,” he moaned against the hot flesh; licking, sucking. “Harry. Harry. Oh Harry.”

And sat up suddenly at his desk. He’d fallen asleep again while reading. His lips felt wet. He stumbled out of his chair, sending it crashing to the floor, and ran to the bathroom. He looked in the mirror and saw rivulets of red running from his mouth. He paled and his face twisted in desperation. He lifted a shaking hand to his bloody mouth and stared at his stained fingers. With a mixture of revulsion and need, he lifted the fingers to his tongue.

Ink.

 

 

By the end of the month, it was time for Harry’s annual trip to Diagon Alley to pick up school supplies. Dumbledore had arranged for him to meet Hermione, Ron and Mr and Mrs Weasley at the Leaky Cauldron. While they weren’t going to take any chances, it was decided that a few hours out of the house wouldn’t be too dangerous, particularly if they were quick.

Mrs Weasley was exuberant as ever, clutching him and exclaiming over his tired form. Ron and Hermione had nothing but smiles for him. He’d missed them so much.

“So, what have you been up to?” Arthur Weasley asked as they tucked into some lunch.

“Nothing much. Studying mainly. There’s not a whole lot to do in the house, and I can’t really go out.”

“Of course you can’t, Harry,” Hermione said archly. “It’s much too dangerous. And we don’t know what’s going on with You-Know-Who.” She used that name in deference to the Weasleys, who cringed whenever the name Voldemort was spoken.

“At least people are starting to pay attention to what Dumbledore’s been saying,” Molly huffed. “He’s been warning the Ministry and that fool Fudge for years now, and no one’s paid a single bit of attention to him.”

“Or you,” Ron elbowed Harry.

Harry shrugged and took a large bite of his sandwich.

“It’s not like I wanted the attention,” he said, speaking through his full mouth. “Maybe everyone will back off now, if they don’t still think I’m crazy.”

“You’ll always be a nutter to us, mate,” Ron said, batting his eyelids. Harry snickered, Hermione tried not to grin, and Arthur smiled, then put on a serious face when Molly frowned.

It was good to be back around normal people, Harry thought.

After lunch, Arthur escorted Ron and Harry to the bookshop, while Molly and Hermione went to look at the latest robes in fashion. The men strode quickly through the busy streets. Whilst he didn’t believe that Harry was in any real danger in the centre of London, Arthur wanted to get the boy back to Grimmauld Place as quickly as possible.

“Dad!” he heard Ron shout. Arthur turned to see Harry collapsed on his knees, hands clenched tightly around his head. Ron was trying ineffectually to help him up.

“Leave him be, Ron,” Arthur said, kneeling beside them. “Harry? Are you alright son?” Arthur looked around anxiously -- they were attracting stares.

“Stop it, stop it, STOP IT!” Harry yelled, then vomited. Ron blanched, but continued rubbing Harry’s back.

“Harry! What’s wrong?” Arthur repeated, looking around desperately. Where was Molly when you needed her?

“Voldemort,” Harry whispered, then passed out. Ron stopped him from falling into the puddle of his own vomit.

Arthur took Harry’s limp body from Ron’s grasp and held him tight. “Find your mother, and tell her I’ve taken him back to you-know-where. Tell her to inform Dumbledore as quick as she can. Go!”

Ron needed no further encouragement. He jumped up and used his large build to push through the gathering crowd.

Arthur closed his eyes and apparated himself and Harry back to Grimmauld Place.

 

 

Harry stood outside Dumbledore’s office. He’d been in constant communication with the Headmaster since his collapse in Diagon Alley, but this was the first day he’d been back at Hogwarts. The new school year started tomorrow and he had a few things he wanted to discuss. And a few things he needed to ask.

He raised his hand to knock when he heard Snape’s voice yelling.

“He had no right!”

Dumbledore’s voice didn’t sound as angry, but it still carried through the closed door. “We’ve already established that.”

“You knew he was there, and you let me continue talking. You had no right!” Snape’s disgust could be heard clearly.

“Severus, he wasn’t there to spy on you, nor to make fun. He wanted to know how you were. What he saw frightened him.”

“Oh, poor Harry Potter.” Snape’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “Got scared because of his dream so, like always, everyone jumps through hoops to placate him.”

“Yes, he was frightened by what he saw, but he was more concerned with what you’d been through. He’s always thought of you as invincible, and you’re not, Severus. You don’t need to be anymore. That part of your life is now over.”

“It was my personal business! Just like before, just like every other time, he has pushed my boundaries and you…have…let him. But no more. I will not have this…this curse bandied about the student population as the latest, tasty morsel of gossip.”

“Now, Severus…”

“There’s no point in continuing this conversation. As you’ve so kindly reminded me, I am no longer of any use to the Order. I have nothing to gain by remaining here.”

“I don’t want you to stay because you’re useful,” Dumbledore’s voice was cold. “I want you to stay where you can be safe. They’ll be looking for you, Severus.”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Snape said, sulkily.

“You need to stay. I want you to stay. I’ll not lose you after so long. And you are not without use. If you want to, if you think you can, you can still be a great asset to the forces of Light.”

“You don’t need another strategist.”

Dumbledore said one word. “Harry.”

“No!”

“Severus, please. We need to teach him; there’s no one else.”

“We’ve been through this,” Snape spat out through gritted teeth, “I will not be a puppet for his amusement again.”

Harry knocked on the door, and the men fell silent.

“Come in,” Dumbledore’s composed voice said.

Harry entered the office, and saw the men sitting down, a cup of tea in their hands. To all intents and purposes, they looked as if Harry had interrupted a casual conversation on general school matters, but Harry could see that Snape sat rigidly in his chair, a snarl fixed on his face, while Dumbledore’s eyes were overbright.

“Headmaster, Professor,” Harry said, nodding to both of them.

“What can I do for you, Harry? As you can see, Professor Snape and I are in the middle of something.”

“I know sir,” Harry said, clenching his fists. “I heard what you were discussing. And I wasn’t spying,” he shot out to Snape, whose eyes darkened malevolently.

“I could have lied about it, but I wanted to tell you both the truth. I’m sick of lying,” Harry continued bravely. He swallowed, then walked closer to Snape.

“Professor Snape,” he started formally. He had been practicing his apology ever since Snape had disappeared from Grimmauld Place. “What I did that night was unforgivable. I didn’t mean to spy on you. Like the Headmaster said, I was worried. I’d seen what had happened…”

His voice trailed off as Snape’s face tightened. “If you…” Snape started to hiss.

“Please sir,” Harry interrupted. “I should have left the moment I heard you start to speak about your personal business. It was my fault, not the Headmaster’s. I came to say sorry, and to give you this.”

Harry reached into his bag and pulled out his Invisibility Cloak. He’d meant to run the idea past Dumbledore before searching for Snape, but now seemed as good a time as any.

“It’s my Invisibility Cloak,” he said, rather obviously. “I want you to have it. That way, you’ll know I’m not spying on you.”

Snape looked at the Cloak for a long while, then raised his eyes to Harry’s. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because I was wrong!” Harry exclaimed, waving the Cloak in front of Snape’s face. “You’ll never believe me otherwise, and…I need your help.”

There. It was out.

Snape and Harry continued to lock gazes. Harry felt a drop of panicked sweat slide down between his shoulder blades.

“What do you need, Harry?” Dumbledore asked quietly.

Harry turned to the Headmaster. “I need…I would like to take Occlumency classes again. And Legilimency, if you think I can do it. I’m…unprotected. And weak. And I know now I’ve got no chance of defeating anyone if I don’t prepare myself,” he said sadly.

“Why me?” Snape asked coldly.

“Because you’re the only one that can,” Harry replied fervently. “I didn’t understand before, but I do now. The Headmaster can’t help me, the other members of the Order don’t know what to do. You’re the only one sir, and if you don’t, then I’ll…”

He stopped, his throat was beginning to close up. He would not cry in front of these men.

“Why should I trust you?” Snape asked softly.

“Because I’ve nothing left to lie to you about sir. You know all my dirty secrets,” Harry chuckled through his tight throat. “I…I won’t fight back anymore sir. You can do anything you want to train me, you can say anything you like, just please…”

“Enough,” Dumbledore’s voice broke through his ranting. “Sit down, Harry.”

Harry stumbled into a chair and gratefully accepted the warm cup of tea that Dumbledore thrust into his hands.

“Severus?” Dumbledore enquired.

Harry chanced a look at the Potions professor, who was staring at the wall, his hands clenched tightly around the arms of his chair.

“Sir?” Harry whispered.

Snape slowly turned his head and looked at him.

“You know I’ll never say anything about…that. I never said anything before.”

A sneer of distaste crossed Snape’s face. He looked at Dumbledore, who sat patiently waiting for his answer.

“Severus,” the Headmaster repeated pleadingly.

Snape swallowed, bile and resignation rising up his throat. “As you wish,” he croaked, then swept out of the room.

The door slammed and Harry looked at the Headmaster.

“Sir? He didn’t take my Cloak.”

Dumbledore sighed. “Perhaps he does trust you Harry. Even if he doesn’t want to.”

 

 

Using Dumbledore as a go-between, Harry and Snape organised their lessons. Just like before, Harry’s poor Potions marks were used as an excuse.

In their first N.E.W.T. Potions lesson, Snape made a big show of the fact that the ‘Boy Who Lived’ had been allowed to join his class, even though he hadn’t earned it. Harry had blushed furiously, and it had taken Hermione tugging on his sleeve to stop him from getting up and storming out of the room. He’d told Snape he could say anything he wanted, but it still hurt.

Draco Malfoy leaned around Pansy Parkinson and sneered in Harry’s direction.

“Oh yeah, I bet he got here on merit,” Harry whispered angrily to Hermione.

“Harry,” she scolded, “if you don’t shut up, we’re both going to get in trouble.”

Harry tried to ignore her glare and looked down at his cauldron. He could still hear the Slytherins snickering.

Damn them.

Damn Snape.

Even though Harry knew that Snape was no longer at the beck and call of Voldemort, the man still put up appearances in front of the little ferret.

Although, Harry thought, if they were appearances, Snape was a consummate actor. There’d been nothing different in his behaviour to indicate anything untoward had happened over the holidays. He had physically healed, and was as imposing as ever. His temperament had not softened either; he still sneered and jeered, and took pleasure in insulting Gryffindors and taking points from anyone not in Slytherin. Harry hadn’t expected Snape to start fawning over him -- he would have been happy if the Potions master had just ignored him in the same cold way he did every other insignificant Gryffindor student.

It was a shame they needed to spend so much time together. It was a shame he was the only one who could help Harry.

“Bastard,” he said under his breath as he watched Snape stalk around the room.

 

 

Three nights a week, Harry dragged himself off to the torture he’d asked for. They met in Snape’s office and, as soon as the door was shut, the lesson began.

“Legilimens,” Snape would hiss, and Harry would be overwhelmed by vision and sound and sensation as Snape pawed through his mind, dredging up painful memories and forcing Harry to study them anew.

“Legilimens,” he would cry, and Harry would fall to the floor, struggling to keep his eyes open and his wand in front of him, trying to conjure spell after spell that would allow him to fight back.

“You make me sick,” Snape would sneer as Harry panted on the floor, stomach tight and eyes watering.

“I’m sorry sir,” Harry gasped, “I’m trying as hard as I can.”

“Then your best efforts so far are abysmal, and you will surely fail.”

Harry struggled to his feet. “I won’t fail.”

“So sure of yourself?” Snape smirked, leaning against a wall nonchalantly.

Harry shook his head, trying to clear his mind. “I can’t afford to fail sir, and you won’t let me. Might mean you were a bad teacher.” He took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. “I’m ready again.”

 

 

By the end of September, Harry started to show progress. Snape could still breach his defences, but Harry was now beginning to fight back. As soon as the first syllable was out of Snape’s mouth, Harry would draw into himself, focusing his mind, setting up barriers that would give him a few extra seconds to compose himself before he retaliated.

Harry never threw anything particularly bad at Snape; it was satisfying enough to see the stern Potions master suffer under the Jelly-Legs Curse. The first time Harry had managed to both fight him off and retaliate, Snape’s look of shock was so sudden and so unlike him that Harry had laughed, and stuttered through the counter-curse. Snape had flexed each leg slowly, almost as if he didn’t believe what had happened.

“Sorry sir,” Harry said, trying to calm himself.

Snape looked at him narrowly, and threw Legilimens at Harry before he could get his breath back.

 

 

Ron and Hermione knew of Harry’s secret lessons and while they wished he didn’t have to go through them, they understood his reasons for wanting too. They kept him grounded as usual, bickering in their usual fashion, driving each other and Harry almost insane with their arguments. Harry was not the most experienced person when it came to matters of the heart, but even he could see that all this dancing around was simple subterfuge.

Hermione, against her better reasoning, adored every part of Ron, even the parts that were less than sensible. Ron, for all his complaining, took great pride in Hermione’s nimble mind, and was often caught gazing at her fondly. The fact that both of them had matured into two very good-looking people had no influence on their behaviour, Harry would think teasingly.

One crisp autumn afternoon, after listening to them argue over some meaningless trifle, and noticing the more important undercurrent of flirtation that ran beneath their words, Harry sighed resignedly and decided to go to his lessons early.

“Harry?” Ron was laying on the couch with his feet in Hermione’s lap, popping chocolates in his mouth while Hermione tried to look at him in disgust.

“I might as well get going,” Harry said. If he left, they would have the common room to themselves for a while, and maybe do something that would stop their relentless dancing around.

“But you don’t start for another two hours,” Hermione said, concerned. “Why don’t you stay here and we’ll work on our Transfigurations essay.”

Ron rolled his eyes and Harry laughed.

“It’s alright, I need all the practice I can get. And if Snape’s too busy to see me, I’ll go meditate somewhere. I’m getting better at it, but I’m still a long way off.”

Ron gave him a grin and wiggled his eyebrows. “Thanks, mate,” he said approvingly, glancing at Hermione, who was still looking at Harry, then looked at Harry and wiggled his eyebrows again.

“Good luck,” Harry laughed. As he left, he heard Hermione ask, “What did he mean, good luck?”

Ron’s answer was indistinct, but Harry suspected he’d show her soon enough.

 

 

Harry walked the empty corridors down to the dungeons. This Saturday was sunny enough that the majority of students were outside pretending to study while trying to get a tan. A few couples, like Hermione and Ron, stayed inside for privacy.

The door to Snape’s office was closed, and Harry knocked on it three times before it opened.

“What do you want?” Snape asked suspiciously, looking down the corridor over Harry’s head.

“I was wondering if we could start class a bit earlier today sir. I’ve nothing else to do --”

“Well I do,” Snape retorted, “and you’re stopping me. Come back when you’re supposed to.”

Harry pushed his hand into the door as Snape was trying to close it. “Please sir, can I just wait? I’ll meditate. I won’t make a sound.”

Snape’s face still looked suspicious, but he removed himself from the door and returned to his desk. “Not one…single…word,” he threatened.

“No sir,” Harry said eagerly, and shut the door behind himself. He went to a back corner of the room, sat with his back against the wall, closed his eyes and tried to compose his thoughts.

After five minutes of stillness, he opened his eyes cautiously. Snape sat at his desk scribbling furiously. He raised his head and looked Harry in the eye.

Harry blushed and closed his eyes quickly.

After five more minutes, he decided to sneak another peak, and found the Potions master staring at him. Snape instantly looked down at his desk.

For the next fifteen minutes, Harry tried really, really hard to meditate. He slowed down his breathing, cleared his mind of all unnecessary thought, concentrated on picturing his mind as a ball of impenetrable mass, but the sound of Snape’s quill scratching against the parchment threw him into distraction.

He opened his eyes and sighed heavily.

“What did I tell you Potter?” Snape snarled.

Harry stood up and stretched the kinks out of his back. “I’m sorry sir. Just can’t seem to concentrate this afternoon.” He walked towards the desk. “What are you working on?”

Snape pulled the pieces of parchment closer to his chest and glared. “Nothing that concerns you, Mister Potter. I’ll thank you not to get involved in my personal affairs – again.”

Harry flushed and looked at the floor. “I…I didn’t mean it like that. I was just wondering if there was something I could do to help. Just so you can finish up and we can get on to the lesson.”

“Then by all means,” Snape said sarcastically, “let us hurry through whatever insignificant obligations I may have, and return to doing what is, after all, the sole reason for any of us being here. Helping you, of course.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Harry said hotly, “I’m not asking you to hurry because I’m bored, or I’ve got something better to do. I was just offering to help.”

“And why would you want to help me?” Snape said snidely.

Harry shrugged. “’Dunno. Maybe because you’re helping me and I want to repay you?”

“There’s nothing you can do for me that I want,” said Snape.

“You don’t know unless you ask,” Harry challenged, eyes flashing. Snape stared daggers at him. Understanding began to dawn on Harry.

“You’re…,” he dropped his voice to a whisper, “you’re trying to fix the…” and waved his hand haphazardly.

“What the devil are you talking about?” Snape mocked.

“Do you want me to say it out loud?” Harry retorted. Snape snorted and looked away.

“You’re trying to fix the vampire thing,” Harry whispered again.

“Idiot,” Snape said, fixing Harry with his stare. “I am the vampire thing.”

Harry’s eyes widened and he took a step back. “You…you,” he stuttered.

“I what, Mister Potter. I am a vampire? I want to suck your blood? I want to transform you into one of the Undead? I want to carry your eviscerated corpse off to the Dark Lord as a gift? I what, Mister Potter?” he asked menacingly.

“You’re still eating,” Harry mumbled, no longer afraid but feeling a bit foolish.

“How astute of you,” Snape said, and placed the sheets of parchment back onto the desk. Harry saw they were covered in Latin, English and a few other languages he didn’t even recognise.

“If it’s any of your business -- which it is not, however I will inform you of some of the particulars so your deranged imagination does not go off half-cocked and I’m awakened one night by you trying to hammer a stake through my heart -- I am doing research. As ridiculous as the notion may sound to you, it is sometimes beneficial to read if one is in search of answers.”

Harry let that sink into his mind – he knew he’d been insulted in there somewhere, but that was par for the course. A small part of him giggled at the image of Snape lying cold, pale and lifeless in a coffin while Harry tried to pound a cricket stump into his chest.

“Does that mean…that you’re not one of them, sir?”

Snape smirked. “Not yet, Mister Potter. Where there is life, there is hope.”

“I want to help,” Harry said, resolved. Snape snorted and opened his mouth to cut him down.

Harry interrupted him. “I know I’m not as clever as you are sir, probably never will be, but if there’s anything I can do, I’d like to try.”

“Probably never will be, Potter?” Snape said drolly.

Harry grinned. “Okay, never will be. But I mean it, I want to help.”

Snape looked at him in confusion. “But why?”

Harry shrugged. “Like I said, you’ve always helped me in the past, even when I didn’t know it, and I’d like to repay you. And…it was sort of my fault this happened to you.”

“Guilt, Mister Potter? Hardly the most noble of emotions to be feeling when one is offering assistance to an enemy.”

Harry looked at him angrily. “You’re not my enemy, not anymore. I don’t know why you still hate me, but I don’t hate you. I already told you that.”

“Ah yes,” Snape said, remembering the one afternoon that he’d fallen asleep in the brat’s presence. He’d thought their final exchange had been a dream. He contemplated the possibilities. True, the boy was no dim-wit, but Harry wouldn’t be much help unless he was guided. And he did already know of his predicament.

“Please sir,” Harry said softly, his face determined. Snape was trying to think of all the reasons he shouldn’t trust Harry again, but none came to the forefront of his mind. All he could think about was the dream he’d had, of the way Harry’s cold, wet body had pressed into his, the way that Harry had cut himself and offered his blood to him.

Please.

Snape scowled. “Alright,” he was dismayed to hear himself reply.

 

 

That set the tenor of their lessons from then on. Harry would arrive two hours early, and assist in translating parchments with the aid of a Latin dictionary. Snape kept the other languages to himself.

Most of the stuff Harry read was so vague he suspected it was written by a witch of Trewlaney’s character. There were lots of ‘wherefores’ and ‘whomevers’, but nothing concrete enough to sink his teeth into. He scowled at the mess of parchment he’d been scribbling on, scowled at the antique Latin dictionary, and scowled at the piece he was translating.

“Problem, Mister Potter?” Snape’s voice asked mockingly.

“None of this makes any sense. It’s all moonlight and potions and ritual dancing. I don’t think that’s going to help you, sir.” Harry grinned as he pictured the Potions master tiptoeing through a meadow by the light of a full moon.

“Whatever it is you are thinking, stop it at once.”

Harry scowled again and hunched down in his chair. He tapped his quill against the edge of the desk.

“Will you please stop disturbing me!” Snape roared, standing up and pounding his hands on his desk. “If you are unable to do as you’re told, you may leave and not return until you are supposed to!”

“I said I want to help, and I mean it. It’s just that…none of this means anything to me. It’s like I’ve got one corner of a jigsaw puzzle and I’m expected to work out what the picture is just by looking at it. Oh, a jigsaw puzzle is – “

“I’m well aware of what the toy is Potter, now hush.” Snape stared into the distance, his hands unconsciously rubbing themselves clean. He turned and stared at Harry, trapping him with a piercing glare.

“If I…trust you with this information, how am I to know you won’t repeat it?”

“I haven’t said anything yet. To anyone, not even Ron and Hermione. I said you could trust me from now on. I give you my word.”

“As a Gryffindor?” Snape sneered.

“No, as a man.”

Snape looked at him suspiciously, so Harry waited patiently for his decision. He didn’t know why, but it was important to him that he be treated as an adult by this man, as an equal. He knew he was basically putting his life into Snape’s hands every time they trained together, and he wanted a way of balancing the score.

Snape blinked slowly, then nodded. Harry walked over to his desk.

“Read this,” he muttered, thrusting a piece of parchment into Harry’s hands. It was the poem Harry had read at Grimmauld Place. He read it again, but couldn’t discern any new meaning in it, regardless of his recent translations.

“That is the one solid piece of information I have found in this mountain of tripe,” Snape said begrudgingly, sitting down. “It is a description of the curse. How much do you know of vampires?”

Harry shrugged. “Not much. We haven’t had much luck in finding a decent Defence Against The Dark Arts teacher since Professor Lupin. Or keeping one.”

Snape’s eyes narrowed. “Indeed. Allow me to increase your knowledge in that particularly area then. The curse, or condition, of vampirism is spread through the transmission of bodily fluids; in particular, blood.”

Harry shrugged. Any idiot knew that.

Snape scowled and continued. “There are different forms that vampirism can take. If the…victim…were to be bitten and his or her blood drank, that would be one half of the curse. It is only when the victim pierces the skin and drinks the blood of the vampire that the cycle is complete. Both must drink from the other at the same time. It is this reciprocation that causes the victim to transform immediately. If that occurs, the situation is irreversible.”

Harry looked at seriously. “Did you – “

“I did not,” Snape snapped. He calmed down and repeated. “I did not.”

Harry nodded and Snape looked at him with distrust, then continued. “Unfortunately, from this point on I can only speculate. There has not been enough research done in the area.”

Harry scrunched his brow in thought. “Why not? Shouldn’t someone have done research on this by now?”

“Vampires are notoriously private creatures Potter. It doesn’t help when the majority of the Wizarding world holds you in fear and loathing.”

“Like werewolves.” Something flashed in Harry’s eyes.

Snape made note of that. “Like werewolves. There is a second class of subjects – those that consume the blood of the vampire. They…”

Snape broke off, his lips twisting into a grimace.

“Like you, sir?”

Snape turned his head and looked sharply at Harry, trying to see if he was being mocked. Harry made sure his face was blank.

“Like me, Potter. If a…victim…is taken in this way, usually without their consent, there is a certain length of time that passes before the damage is irreversible. Look at the numbers on the parchment.”

Harry did a quick calculation in his head. “Is it this ‘seven by seven by seven’ bit sir?”

Snape nodded.

“That’s three hundred and forty-three.”

“Days, Potter. Days.”

“What day are you up to now, sir?” Harry asked quietly.

“Fifty-six. I have until the end of June next year to come up with something,” Snape said, resigned. “It sounds like a long time, but I haven’t been able to find…” he trailed off, distracted.

“You’ll do it, sir,” Harry said, clutching onto his arm. “Dumbledore and I will help you.”

Snape didn’t move his arm, even though it was being squeezed tight. He felt Harry’s strong fingers dig into his flesh. The sensation did not cause as much distaste as he’d expected.

“You don’t even know what has to be done, Potter. How do you know I will succeed?” he asked.

Harry’s hand tightened impossibly on his arm, then let go. “The same reason I’m going to master Occlumency and Legilimency. Because you can’t afford to fail, and I won’t let you.”

“Gryffindor pride,” Snape said, his voice not as strong as it usually was. He wanted to believe so badly.

“That, and a bit of Slytherin cunning, sir,” Harry grinned, pushing his glasses up his nose. He realised how close he was standing to Snape and quickly moved away.

“So,” he said, feigning casualness, “any ideas on how to reverse this?”

Snape nodded and walked over to a shelf. He stared at the bottles as if searching for something.

“The first part of the poem only describes what the vessel -- that is to say, I -- can expect to experience. The first day, I became a carrier. The second, I was filled with dismay. By the third…” Snape stopped. This was getting too personal.

“Let’s just say I started to feel things I’ve never felt before.”

“Bloodlust?”

Snape smirked. “An unusual expression Potter, but not entirely without merit. And before you ask, I have no great urge to slit your throat. At least, not any more than I have in the past. I still have full mastery of the situation.”

“Will you be able to keep it under control the whole time?” Harry asked curiously. He didn’t look forward to having a vampire wandering around the castle, but suspected Dumbledore would remove Snape before anything bad happened. And it would be different to see the usual austere Potions master express some emotions that did not centre around disgust and intimidation for once.

“I hope so,” Snape said miserably. He looked up, realised who he was speaking to, and hardened his voice.

“The last line is the key. I hypothesise, from this and other materials, that I have three hundred and forty-three days to complete my task. I must either spill my blood or, to put it bluntly, kill myself -- or be damned eternally as one of the Nosferatu.”

“Kill yourself!” Harry exclaimed. “But that’s…that’s ridiculous! Dumbledore won’t let you.”

Snape gave a sour chuckle. “The Headmaster may say all he wishes, but in the end, it is my decision. And I do not wish to be a creature of the night till the end of eternity, or however many years that may entail.”

Harry blinked his eyes rapidly and bit his lower lip. “Isn’t there any other way?”

“That, Mister Potter, is what we are going to find out.”


	4. Chapter 4

Harry didn’t realise he was dreaming at first. It was like every other Occlumency lesson he’d had with Snape. He could feel his memories being ripped out of his mind, examined with cold impartiality, then thrust back into place before being plundered again.

He came to on the floor, splayed on his back with his wand shaking in Snape’s direction.

“What have I told you?” Snape scoffed. “You’re hardly fighting back at all. You’re letting me in too deep!”

“I’m trying,” Harry said angrily, trying to get his body to cooperate enough to raise himself to his feet.

“Not hard enough!” Snape shouted and strode over to him, towering above him. Harry could see his eyes glinting with anger, his pallid lips pulled back in a sneer. Harry started to tremble – he was standing too close.

“Potter,” Snape said, his voice a husky whisper that Harry felt move gently across his face. Harry trembled.

“Potter,” Snape said again as his face transformed. Harry saw his lips pull back, his jagged canines lengthen and sharpen as his mouth moved to Harry’s neck.

Harry gasped as the first tooth broke his skin. The pain was sudden, and almost immediately disappeared. He felt a delicious pulling at his throat, almost as if heat was being pumped through his veins. He clutched at Snape’s arms, he didn’t know if he wanted to push him away or pull him closer.

“Harry,” Snape murmured against his skin and Harry moaned, pushing his body into Snape’s hard embrace. He could feel his spine bending as Snape bent over him, tongue swatting softly against his neck. Harry could feel his blood roiling in his body, intense feelings swirling and centring in a part of his body that he’d never thought of in conjunction with Snape before.

“Oh,” he moaned, and climaxed in languorous waves.

He opened his eyes slowly, trying to catch his breath and looked around to see Ron smirking at him.

“Good dream?” Ron sniggered. Harry felt himself turn red and hoped he hadn’t said anything incriminating.

“Shut it,” Harry said, turning onto his stomach then wincing as he felt the sticky fluid being rubbed into his skin.

“Come on mate, it’s nothing to be ashamed of. Everyone has those types of dreams now and then,” Ron chuckled and winked.

Harry groaned and thrust his head into the pillow. What a way to start the day.

 

 

“Are you alright?” Hermione asked at the breakfast table.

“Yeah, sure,” Harry replied quickly. “Why do you ask that?”

Ron almost choked on his toast and Harry sent him a death-glare.

“You’re awfully quiet this morning,” she said, worried. “Aren’t you sleeping well?”

Harry elbowed Ron before he could open his mouth. “I’m fine,” he said to Hermione and gave her a fake grin. “I’m just a bit tired. I’ve had a busy week.”

“No wonder, with all those extra lessons you’ve been taking.” She lowered her voice. “You do realise that you’re with him for four hours at a time now? Every Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday night - that’s a whole half a day extra with him a week!”

“Thank you, Professor Vector,” Ron laughed.

“Quiet, Ron,” she said, then turned her attention back to Harry. “What are you doing there all that time?”

“I told you,” Harry said, looking around the table to ensure no one was listening to their conversation. “I’ve been practicing.”

“But so much?”

“Not everyone can be as good at stuff as you are,” Harry retorted angrily. “And it is important, you know. In case you haven’t realised, someone’s trying to kill me! He’s already…” He stopped. He didn’t want to think about Cedric or Sirius right now.

Ron looked at Hermione angrily and she had the good grace to blush. “I’m sorry Harry. I know things have been hard for you.”

She placed her hand gently on his arm. “You know that we’ll do anything we can to help you, don’t you?” Ron nodded in affirmation, his colour slowly returning to normal.

Harry smiled tightly and looked at his friends. His two closest friends. The two people he knew he could always trust. He hoped.

“Alright Harry?” Ron asked, his eyes showing his worry.

Harry’s face broke out into a real grin. “Alright.”

 

 

Snape sat brooding over the documents that Dumbledore had managed to find for him. The old man hadn’t said where they were from, or how they had fallen into his possession, but Snape was wise enough to know that the language he was currently trying to decipher was an older form of Romanic. He would have to make do with an ordinary Romanian/English dictionary, and just put in the extra work required to determine the meaning of the ancient root words.

“Professor?”

“What?” he mumbled, only giving a fraction of his mind to the distraction that was Harry.

“I’m thirsty.”

“And?” Snape asked, lifting his head with frustration. Harry was slumped on his couch, the large Latin dictionary that had quickly become his lifeline resting on his chest.

Harry rolled his eyes. “So…can I use your fire to call down to the kitchens?”

Snape nodded abruptly and turned back to his work, ignoring the lithe way Harry got up and knelt in front of the fireplace. He snuck a quick look while his back was turned. The green flames cast his body in a luminescent glow that would be unappealing in some skin tones. Snape snorted at himself.

Harry turned away from fire. “I’ve asked for a pitcher of pumpkin juice. Do you want anything?”

Snape shook his head, then reconsidered and said, “A pot of tea.”

Harry grinned and relayed his order, only mumbling the last part of his words.

“Thank you,” Snape said haughtily as Harry returned to the couch.

“My pleasure,” Harry said as he rearranged his equipment. Parchment, broken quills, scrawled-upon papers, books and bottles were stacked neatly on the floor, leaving the desk clear for supplies. “One good thing about all this research - my Latin’s going to be brilliant!”

Within a minute, a house-elf had popped in, laid the table, then popped out without saying a word.

“Here you go,” Harry said, placing a cup of tea on its matching saucer. He left both on the table though and looked at Snape expectantly. Snape sighed.

“You need to have a break. If your mind’s not clear, you might miss something important,” Harry said facetiously. Snape grumbled and took the seat opposite Harry’s.

“Thank you,” he muttered and reached for the sugar.

“I’ve already added one,” Harry said, making his own cup up.

Snape grunted and stared into the distance. There were a few words that kept cropping up in his research, regardless of the language. He needed to work out if they were all from the same base language, or were simply words that had kept their form as they moved from continent to continent. His fingers thrummed against the edge of his cup as he thought, then glanced at Harry, who was watching him expectantly.

“Well, out with it,” Snape sighed.

“Am I really that obvious?” Harry asked. Snape’s lip curled and Harry shrugged one shoulder. “Okay then. I was wondering, now that you’re not going back to Volde - , I mean, You Know Who, why do you have to keep up the pretence? I mean, why do you have to act so mean all the time?”

Snape’s voice was quiet but scathing. “Act?”

“Like you only have time for the Slytherins. Like you hate everyone, particularly the Gryffindors. Like you hate me.”

There. He had said it. Harry released a soft breath, and he nibbled on his lower lip, wondering if he’d pushed too far.

Snape crossed his legs and stared at his foot, which bounced up and down slowly. “Why do you assume it’s just an act?” he asked quietly.

“Because it doesn’t make sense! I can understand if you don’t like individual people, but having this grudge on an entire house…well, it just doesn’t make sense!”

Snape lifted his eyebrow in wry amusement. “And you assume that everything that happens has a purpose, or a meaning, Potter?”

Harry looked at him squarely. “Everything you do does, sir.”

“What do you think would happen, Potter, if I started treating Draco Malfoy the same way as I have always treated Ronald Weasley?”

Harry eyes widened. “Everyone would think you’d lost your mind sir, no offence intended.”

“None taken,” he chuckled. Snape took a sip of his tea and put the cup of the table between them. He leaned forward and looked at Harry carefully. “Potter, I have been acting in one form or another my entire life. It is either too soon or too late for me to change. No one can be trusted to keep my secrets – not Mister Malfoy, not the rest of my Slytherins, especially not the entire student population, which would no doubt rejoice at my demise, or at least my disappearance. The Dark Lord knows what has happened to me, but he does not know how I’ve been affected, nor what my final decision will be. The longer he is kept in the dark, the better the chances for everyone involved. I will not make things easier for him. I will not give him an excuse to come here.”

“Do you really think you can trust no one?” Harry asked quietly.

Snape picked up his mug, cradling the warmth of the cup in his hands. “Of course, there are exceptions. There are some I find I trust more than others.”

“Does that mean - ?”

“Don’t ask it, Potter.” Snape’s tone told Harry the conversation was over.

“Can I ask you another question sir?” Harry asked as Snape looked at him warily. “What’s your favourite biscuit?”

“I beg your pardon?” Snape asked, mystified.

“It’s a simple question,” Harry teased as he plucked a pink, marshmallowly creation off the plate and stuffed it whole in his mouth.

“You have the most appalling manners I’ve ever seen,” Snape said without any real malice.

“Bulls-, I mean, that’s not true. I’ve seen Crabbe eat corn on the cob before,” Harry chuckled.

Snape tried to hide his snort in his teacup. “Yes, well, perhaps I’m being hasty.”

“So, which one is it?” Harry spoke again with his mouth full. Snape shook his head in bewilderment as Harry pointed to the plate.

On the decent-sized plate were an arrangement of biscuits, Muggle and Wizarding alike. Some were plain and hard, others covered in chocolate, whilst several seemed designed purely to be consumed by children, they were so covered in sprinkles and bright colour.

“House-elves must be feeling friendly today,” Snape said dryly as he surveyed the choices. “I never get biscuits.”

“I asked them,” Harry said, picking up a buttery-looking finger and dunking it into his tea.

Snape’s hand hovered over the plate.

“Ah ha! Knew you’d go for that,” Harry cried as Snape picked up a chocolate-covered rectangle.

“Really,” Snape said as he bit into the Tim-Tam. Lovely biscuit that. Difficult to find though since it was made in Muggle Australia.

“Yep, you look like a chocolate man to me,” Harry said, grabbing one of the Tim-Tams before Snape could eat them all.

“I loathe white chocolate,” Snape said, offhandedly.

“I don’t really care what type of biscuit I have, as long as I get some,” Harry replied, grinning.

Snape took the last Tim-Tam that Harry had been eyeing. He raised an eyebrow and said, “Those that hesitate…”

“Knew I should’ve asked for more chocolate ones,” Harry sighed.

“As far as I can tell, you’ve eaten most of them. Shouldn’t you be watching your figure, Mister Potter?”

Harry laughed. “What am I – a housewife? I’m a growing boy.”

Snape smiled briefly. “Yes, you are.”

Their eyes locked, and Snape didn’t feel like letting his smile slip. Harry looked at him with clear eyes like he was expecting something, then smiled and took another sip of his tea. Snape felt the smile slip from his face when he realised he was sitting with Potter, drinking tea and conversing as nice as you please.

“Best get back to work,” Snape said hoarsely. Harry nodded.

 

 

“Legilimens.” The word tore into Harry’s brain but he managed to push it away after a brief struggle. Snape had started to up the tempo of their lessons; as soon as the curse was cast, he would back it up with another spell to throw Harry off.

Harry felt himself bounce off the wall, grit his teeth and bore down in his mind.

The random flashes of memory screaming through his mind sped up and solidified. He squashed them down, throat straining as he sent a responding curse Snape’s way.

“Legilimens,” Snape shouted.

“Not…today…Snape,” Harry muttered, and thrust the invading force from his mind.

When he came to, he was breathing heavily and sweating profusely. He shook his head to get the stinging liquid out of his eyes. Snape looked fairly dry, but his pale face had a twisted expression that Harry had come to realise was a modicum of respect.

“Not bad, Potter.”

“Not bad at all, Harry,” Dumbledore said from the corner. The two men swung around quickly, wands trained at the new voice.

Harry breathed a sigh of relief, while Snape narrowed his eyes. “Headmaster,” he said.

“I just wanted to see how the two of you were progressing,” Dumbledore said cheerily. “Looks like things are coming along nicely.”

“I think so,” Harry said, mopping his brow with the hem of his T-shirt. “I’ve managed to fight off Professor Snape a few times.”

“Good, very good,” Dumbledore said, walking to the centre of the room. “Severus?”

Snape grimaced. “The boy is…progressing. He has made improvements.”

Dumbledore smiled. “Fancy letting me have a go Harry?”

Harry grinned. “Ok, but I’m bit tired. It might take a while for me to get you out.”

Dumbledore drew his wand from his sleeve. “Just do your best, Harry.” He pointed his wand, and suddenly Harry saw a glimpse of what had made Dumbledore such a formidable wizard, and still a feared one.

“Legilimens,” he said softly, and Harry’s head was thrown back with the impact. It was like being hit in the forehead with a sledgehammer. He felt Dumbledore’s mind skimming against his softly, gentling the curves. Harry took a deep breath and pushed.

“Excellent, Harry, well done. And to you too, Severus,” Dumbledore said. “I’m very pleased with both your efforts.”

“No offence, Headmaster, but I think you were taking things a bit easy there. You can push harder, you know. Professor Snape is much more brutal than you.”

Snape snorted and turned away, his arms folding under his robes. Dumbledore raised his eyebrows.

“It seems I have been challenged,” he joked. “Very well then. Legilimens!” This time the force of the spell knocked Harry off his feet, and he felt his resistance being ripped through. It was like his mind was made of rubber, and Dumbledore was a sharp stick poking and creating holes through which to sneak in.

Harry saw his most recent feelings, his most traumatic memories, float to the forefront of his brain. Umbridge cackled as Harry desecrated his own skin with her quill. Sirius fell through the curtain. The prophetic orb fell and crashed to the floor. Ron was engulfed in pulsating brain. The Death-Eater’s head aged and renewed itself endlessly. Snape was set upon by Malfoy. Harry was screaming and vomiting. Dumbledore looked at him and cried. Harry threw himself at Snape’s mercy and offered his throat.

“Enough!” he panted and forced the Headmaster out of his mind. Harry took his glasses off his face and rubbed his eyes. He could feel a searing pain building up in his head. He hadn’t had a headache like this since the day at Diagon Alley.

“Harry, are you alright?” Dumbledore asked, hurrying over and placing a firm arm around his waist.

“Yeah. Yes,” Harry gasped, dry breath heaving in his lungs. He avoided Dumbledore’s eye, but looked up at Snape, who stared at him intently. Harry shook his head and put his glasses back on. “I’m alright.”

“I’m sorry, my boy. I shouldn’t have pushed you so hard,” Dumbledore said contritely. “Perhaps you should see Madame Pomfrey?”

“No,” Harry said, disengaging himself from Dumbledore and staggering over the couch, sitting with his head between his knees. “It’s just a headache.”

He could hear a clinking sound in the background and opened his eyes to see two large, shiny black shoes.

“Here,” Snape said curtly, handing him an unstoppered vial.

Harry took the vial and drank, preparing to wince at the taste, but was pleasantly surprised to find it had none at all.

Dumbledore sat down next to Harry and looked him in the eye. “Are you truly alright?”

Harry nodded.

Snape scrutinised the way they were behaving; something important had occurred. “What’s going on?”

Dumbledore smiled at Snape, looked back at Harry, slapped him gently on the knee and said, “Nothing that concerns you, Severus. You of all people should know that some things deserve to stay inside the mind.”

Harry’s breathing had returned to normal and the giddiness was gone. “Guess I’m not as good as I thought.”

“On the contrary, Harry, you withstood my attack very well. I have had over one hundred years to practice, after all.” He smiled and stood up. “I’ll take my leave of you then, gentlemen. Very well done, to both of you. And you know, my door is always open if you wish to talk. Both of you,” he added, glancing between the slightly abashed Harry and the confused Potions master.

“Albus – “

“Good night, Severus. Good night, Harry. Get some sleep, the both of you. You each deserve a good night’s rest.”

Harry stared at the near empty vial, swirling the last few remaining droplets around as Dumbledore left.

“Well?” Snape’s low voice echoed.

“Well what, sir?” Harry replied, finally meeting the man’s eyes.

Harry held his gaze; he wouldn’t back down and he wouldn’t speak. It was bad enough he’d dreamt it - now the Headmaster knew too. He would not have anyone else know his sick dreams.

Snape stared at him, his face impassive, his eyes hard. He turned abruptly and walked to his desk.

“Good night, Potter,” he said to the desk in front of him.

“Night, sir,” Harry replied softly, gathering his things and making his lonely way back to Gryffindor Tower.


	5. Chapter 5

Autumn winds at Hogwarts cut as quick as a knife. The dry stones of the castle seemed to fester with cold and misery; the hallways perfect conduits for fast breezes and adolescent pestilence.

Harry groaned as he blew his nose for the umpteenth time that day. His eyes were watery, his sinuses blocked, his bones ached with each step he took away from his nice, warm, comfortable bed.

“Sleep,” his treacherous mind thought as he stumbled into the freezing depths of the dungeons. And he would, as soon as he found Snape and cancelled his evening lesson. There was no way his tortured body and clouded mind would be able to withstand four hours of intense activity tonight.

“Chicken soup. Boiling sweet tea.” He salivated as his mind played tricks on him again. He sneezed three times in succession, blew his nose loudly and knocked on the door of Snape’s private quarters. He shivered and wrapped his robe tighter around his hunched body.

“Sir?” he called, knocking on the door again.

It swung open and Snape snarled, “What?”

Harry blinked – he’d obviously interrupted Snape in the middle of his morning ablutions. He was robe-less, and Harry noted with amusement that he wore form-fitting pants and a long-sleeved shirt, both in black. His morning beard was blue against his pale skin.

Snape looked at Harry’s red nose with distaste. “Yes?”

“I -, I can’t – “ Harry’s nose twitched and he sneezed again, his eyes filling with water.

Snape backed away. “You will not infect me with your germs. I don’t have time to be sick.”

Harry nodded and entered Snape’s room, bumping into him slightly as he made his way to the fireplace.

“Ah, wonderful, glorious heat!” he thought as he rubbed his hands and stepped as close to the fire as he could without setting his robe alight.

“Mister Potter,” Snape said agitatedly, standing in front of his desk, “now is not a good time. I’m in the middle of something important. You must leave.”

“I will,” Harry snuffled, “I only wanted to tell you I’ve got a cold and can’t come for my lesson tonight. What are you working on?”

“Nothing that concerns you,” Snape said, his eyes widening as if in panic. “You must leave now…don’t!” He said, as Harry moved around him and looked at his desk.

Which was covered with the corpses of dead rats.

Snape stared at him, spots of colour appearing on his face. Harry looked between the dead animals and him in confusion. “What are you - ? Did you, did you kill them?”

Snape’s lips tightened and he spat out, “Of course I killed them Potter, unless you think they are a gift from a secret admirer.”

Harry looked at the still bodies. They appeared totally intact, only their lack of movement and Snape’s slight embarrassment hinted that something unusual was going on. Harry walked over to the desk and slowly ran a hand down one of the bodies.

“They’re still warm,” he said, looking at Snape, who avoided his eye and stepped away.

“Leave them and get out,” he muttered, his arms wrapped tightly around his chest.

Harry looked around the rest of the room – the only other unusual items were a cauldron and a goblet.

“Sir?” Harry stuttered, his throat beginning to close over in distress.

“Leave it, Potter,” Snape said with a tiny edge of pleading.

Harry looked at him properly and noted the rigid way he held himself, the slight tremor of his body he fought to contain, the minute tic he got in the corner of his left eye when he was feeling something very powerful but not expressing it.

“You’re going to drink their blood, aren’t you,” Harry said softly.

Snape snarled and turned away, panting in fury as he stared at the fire. Harry felt a sadness he’d never experienced before fill his chest.

“You are, aren’t you,” he said, walking quietly towards the man’s hard back.

“Stop!” Snape yelled, turning on him and giving Harry a look of pure loathing. “Shut the hell up for once, will you? No one asked you to intrude.”

Harry wanted to turn and run but held his place. “I didn’t know you were this far gone. I thought you were handling it. I’m sorry sir, I didn’t mean to intrude – “

“It’s always the same thing with you, isn’t it, Potter?” Snape said low and menacingly, leaning into Harry’s personal space. His eyes narrowed and his lips curled back with anger. “Never can keep your nose out of other people’s business. I suppose you’re happy now - everything you ever thought about me is true. Not only is Snape a miserable, evil bastard, he’s now a miserable evil bastard that drinks blood. He’s not safe to be around anymore, if he ever was. No one should come near him, he’s dangerous. Isn’t that right, Potter?”

Harry flinched as his name was spat out with contempt.

“Oh, the irony of it must be delicious to you,” Snape continued, his clenched fists trembling. “All that time I teased Black about eating rats, and now look what I’ve been reduced to. Are you happy now, Potter? Does it make you feel glad to know you’ve been vindicated? Aren’t you scared of me, Potter?”

Harry looked into his wild eyes and shook with a mixture of pity and anger.

“Run away, little boy,” Snape whispered, looking at Harry with sheer hate.

“I don’t –“

“LEAVE!”

Harry took a few stumbling steps backwards and left the room slowly. When he got back to the boy’s dorm, he shivered under the covers of his bed, and thought long through the day. Not about how scared he had been in Snape’s presence, but about how he hadn’t been scared at all.

 

 

It was as if the previous two months had never existed. Snape indulged his gift for vitriol, not only on Harry, but on every Gryffindor he could. Potions became a nightmare. Hermione would bite her lip in frustration as she tried to follow Snape’s exacting instructions, but every effort she made was scorned. Malfoy and his cronies were happier than they had been for some time. They loved watching the carnage of points that took place every lesson. Harry would leave each class with a sick sensation in the pit of his stomach.

His private lessons returned to the farce they had previously been. If Harry had thought Snape was being hard on him in the past, he knew now he’d just had a taste of the man’s power. Time after time, hour after hour, Harry would try to remain focused, try to strengthen his mind against Snape’s assaults, but it was as if every lesson were his first. Snape tore through his defences with sickening ease; he cut through his memories; he deliberately forced Harry to view his most troubling ones. Harry contemplated speaking to Dumbledore, but knew the only thing that would accomplish would be getting his lessons cancelled. Regardless of what was going on with Snape, he needed the lessons. He wouldn’t give up. He couldn’t.

 

 

“Quite obviously, the rumours of your intelligence have been greatly exaggerated,” Snape said, sneering over Hermione’s potion. She blushed lightly but didn’t say a word. By now, she and every other Gryffindor in the class knew it was pointless trying to argue with the Potions professor.

Harry took a quick glance at her cauldron. The liquid should have been a sparkling gold, and from his point of view, it was perfect. He looked at the murky brown fluid in his cauldron; no doubt Snape would have something sarcastic to say about his efforts. But Snape paid him no attention, just as he had for the last three weeks. Whereas in the past Snape would have jumped at the chance to enumerate Harry’s shortcomings in front of a captive audience, now he wouldn’t even look in his direction. Harry had expected Snape to be angry with him for his intrusiveness; hell, he’d done it before, on more than one occasion, but he’d always managed to make it up to Snape in the past. This time, however, he could see no way of getting back in the man’s good books.

Harry frowned. Why should he care if Snape hated him? It didn’t matter what the man thought of him, as long as he continued teaching him Occlumency, and maybe Legilimency. Although teaching was too kind a word for what passed for lessons between them.

He picked up his knife and started shredding weezlewood roots into thin slivers. They were part of the materials list and, even though they had been added to the potion at the beginning of the brewing process, Harry thought if he added a bit more, he might be able to salvage his potion, or at least make it look less brownish.

It was a combination of factors that led to his accident – the section of weezlewood he was cutting was particularly dry, it had several knots running up its side, and he was holding it in the palm of his hand rather than resting it on his table. In the end, the result was the same.

“Ahh!” he hissed, as the knife slipped from his grasp and sliced across his palm. He dropped the weezlewood and the knife and inspected the wound. It was fairly deep and bleeding profusely. He clenched his fist and saw blood drip onto the table.

“Harry!” Hermione exclaimed, coming over to his table and gently unfurling his palm so she could inspect the wound. “You’d better go to the Infirmary and get this closed up. Professor?” she called to Snape, who was currently sneering at a perfectly good Ravenclaw potion. He turned and the sneer fell off his face.

“Sir,” Hermione said, holding Harry’s hand up. The adrenalin that had raced through Harry’s veins when he’d cut himself was starting to wear off; he could feel a dull throb pulsating in his hand. The blood started to run down his wrist.

“What…?” Snape said, his face pale as he made his way over to them slowly.

“Harry’s cut himself, I think he should see Madame Pomfrey.”

Snape tore his eyes away from Harry’s bloody hand and looked at his face. Harry shivered, it was the first time in ages that the man had looked at him voluntarily, and Harry was stunned by what he saw.

Snape’s nostrils flared and his body was taut. Harry could see his jaw was clenched as he struggled to keep his body from moving.

“Go,” Snape said huskily, his eyes boring into Harry’s.

Hermione thrust Harry’s bloodied hand towards him. “You should look –“

“Go!” Snape yelled, and Harry pulled his hand out of Hermione’s grasp and raced out of the room.

He ran down the corridor, ignoring Hermione as she called out to him. After he’d turned the corner, he stopped and rested against a wall, panting slightly. He looked at his palm; the flow of blood had started to slow as it congealed, although his lower arm and sleeve looked as if they’d been plunged into a bucket of blood. He pictured the look he’d seen on Snape’s face, revulsion and yearning had flittered over his features briefly before he’d clamped down hard on his expressions. Harry shivered again and wondered what it would be like to want something so much, but never let yourself have it.

 

 

Once Madame Pomfrey had healed his hand, Harry slowly made his way down to the main hall. Even though he wasn’t in the mood for noise or bright lights, he was hungry and knew if he didn’t at least make an appearance, Hermione would be so worried she’d come looking for him.

He sat down heavily between Ron and Dean and pulled a platter of chops towards him. As he piled up his plate, he snuck a glance at the teacher’s table. Snape wasn’t in his usual seat.

“Alright?” Ron asked, giving him a slightly worried look and filling his glass for him.

“Yeah,” Harry said, opening his hand and showing Ron. “There’s not even a scar.”

“You left your bag in class. I’ve got it here for you,” Hermione said tersely.

“Thanks,” Harry replied, cutting into his meat savagely and pushing it around the plate. He didn’t feel like being interrogated. He scooped a large portion of mashed potatoes onto his plate.

“Why did you run, Harry?” she asked, her mouth a thin line as she watched him avoid her eyes.

“You ran?” Ron asked around a mouthful of food.

“Say it, don’t spray it,” Dean snickered. Harry chuckled; Ron did have the most appalling table manners sometimes.

“I called out to you and you didn’t stop,” Hermione continued, placing her utensils on her now empty plate.

Harry took a long drink. “Yeah, well, I had to see Pomfrey, didn’t I? You saw how much it was bleeding. Didn’t want to get points taken off for dripping disgusting Gryffindor blood on Snape’s precious floor.”

Dean and Ron laughed. Harry grinned at them wryly and asked, “So, how many points did he take off Gryffindor then?”

Hermione looked bemused. “None. It was really weird. He just told me to go back to my desk and cast a cleaning spell on yours. I thought for sure he’d leave the blood there and make you clean it at a detention.”

Harry felt his face heat up. Ron said, “He probably thought he’d cop it from Dumbledore for letting a student cut himself to shreds in one of his classes.”

“I don’t unde--“ Hermione started to say.

“Look, what’s the problem?” Harry interrupted. “You told me to go to the Infirmary, Snape told me to go to the Infirmary, I go and now I’m getting the third degree. What’s the big issue?”

Hermione sighed and ran a hand through her messy hair. “There’s no issue, Harry. I was just worried about you.”

Harry grinned at his friend. “S’alright Hermione, I’ve been hurt worse before.”

She smiled slightly. “I know. I just don’t like to see it happen.”

“We alright now?”

She smiled again, a wider grin this time. “Only if you take your stuff with you next time. Do you know how heavy your bag is?”

Ron snorted. “Yeah, it’s ‘cause he keeps all his books in it. He’s too dense to follow a timetable.”

Harry nudged him in the ribs. “Git.”

“Prat.”

“Would you like to go over the potions homework?” Hermione asked solicitously.

Harry shook his head, glancing over at Dean. “Can’t. Have to go to Remedial Potions.”

Ron scowled and Dean chuckled. Harry gave him a fake filthy look and grabbed his bag from under the table.

“Thanks for worrying about me,” he said to Hermione.

“What are friends for?” she said sweetly.

Ron cleared his throat. “I’ll do homework with you, Hermione. You could do potions while I work on my Muggle Studies essay.”

Hermione blushed. “Sure.”

Harry rolled his eyes and walked away.

 

 

He waited patiently in front of the dungeon doors. He’d knocked solidly for five minutes but Snape had not let him in. Harry sighed and weighed up his options. He could wait it out, but there was no guarantee that Snape was even inside. He hadn’t been present at dinner and Harry had not heard of any new detentions he’d be supervising. He could go back to the tower and enjoy his night off. Even if Ron and Hermione were busy studying and flirting, he could relax in front of the fire and read something that wasn’t from a textbook. He could see if one of his roommates wanted to play Exploding Snap, or just lie around and tell tall stories. He could visit the Headmaster.

But he didn’t want to do any of those things. He wanted to be in Snape’s quiet rooms, in his quiet presence, pouring over mouldy Latin texts and complaining about useless they were. He wanted to order tea and fight Snape for the chocolate biscuits. He wanted to pit his mind against the Professor’s and see if he could reduce the stern man to a quivering mass with a Jelly Legs Jinx. He wanted to sit in front of the fire and not think.

He wanted.

After half an hour of fruitless waiting, he gave up and returned to his room. It was obvious there would be no lesson tonight.

 

 

Harry woke with a gasp, eyes straining in the darkness. He’d had a powerful dream, a violent dream, but couldn’t remember its contents. He shivered as he reached for his glasses and listened to the slow, deep breaths of his roommates. He looked out of the window – the moon was still high in the sky and the night was pregnant with silence. He knew that going back to sleep would be impossible so, like so many nights before, pulled his Invisibility Cloak around his body and walked the empty corridors of Hogwarts.

 

 

Harry curled up into a ball as he sat at the base of the now still staircase. The portraits were unusually silent, although Harry suspected that they would start chatting if they saw that someone was awake to listen to them. He hugged the cloak tighter around his body and wished he’d put something warm on top of his pyjamas but, apart from that small body discomfort, felt himself at peace.

In the low light of a few flickering candles, he gazed at the palm of his left hand. Madame Pomfrey had done an admirable job, his skin looked nearly new and didn’t hurt a bit. He clenched and released his hand a few times, feeling the movement of bone and ligament under the tight skin. He wondered what it would feel like to lose control of your body.

The sound of footsteps approaching his location made him sit up straight. If it was Filch and his mangy cat, he was done for. There was no excuse he could give for being out after curfew. His heart started to trip in his chest as his thigh muscles tightened, ready to force his body up and away before he was caught. But the man approaching him was not Filch. It was Snape.

Snape walked slowly, a look of abstract thought on his face as he trailed his hand along the wall, fingers bumping over nearly invisible ridges in the stonewalls. He walked slower than his usual brisk pace, his robes fluttering around his body instead of trailing behind him as he stormed from one location to another.

Snape stopped at a doorway. He was almost directly under Harry, who held his breath.

Snape grimaced and his hand tightened into a fist. He started to beat his fist against the wall, each hit becoming faster and harder. Harry remembered his promise, remembered that he’d swore to Snape he wouldn’t impinge on his privacy anymore. He quietly cleared his throat and pulled back the hood of his cloak.

Snape swung around at the noise, his wand pointed in Harry’s direction with lightening speed. He froze when he saw Harry’s head. Harry took the opportunity to slowly rise and remove the cloak.

“Sir,” he said timidly.

“What are you doing here, Potter?” Snape rasped, lowering his wand.

“I couldn’t sleep,” he shrugged, and walked down the stairs until he was standing on an equal footing with Snape. “I’m sorry to disturb you, I just wanted you to know I was here so I could get going.”

“I’m sure this isn’t the first time you’ve managed to slip past me,” Snape sneered. “No doubt you’ve perfected the art of silently escaping.”

“I have,” Harry agreed. “But I told you before – I’m not going to lie to you anymore. And I didn’t want to…”

He stared into Snape’s eyes, hoping the man could see what he wanted to say, but didn’t know how to phrase.

“How is your hand?” Snape asked quietly. Harry opened his palm and held it up. Snape looked at it closely.

“No lasting injury then,” he said.

“No sir, it wasn’t a big deal.”

Snape’s mouth tightened. “No. I expect it wasn’t.”

“Should I go back to bed?” Harry asked, hoping that Snape would say no.

Snape lifted his gaze from Harry’s palm. Harry could see black circles of weariness under his eyes.

“Sleep, Potter,” he said.

Harry nodded and started to put his cloak back on. He hesitated. “Sir? Can we…I mean, can I come for a lesson tonight?”

He held his breath until he heard Snape’s tired reply. “Yes, Potter. Return tonight.”

Harry gave him a small smile and slipped into his coat. As he made his way back to the tower, he watched Snape continue his silent wandering.

 

 

Harry stood at the door to Snape’s chambers. He’d been on tenterhooks all day, half expecting Snape to pull him aside and cancel his lessons without reason. As the afternoon had worn on, he’d breathed a quiet sigh of relief.

He’d spent a lot of time thinking. It was obvious that Snape was suffering. Perhaps rat’s blood was no longer useful, or maybe Snape needed larger quantities of it, but whatever had happened since he’d stopped speaking to Harry, his condition had become much worse. The night before he’d looked more than his usual tired self. He’d appeared almost strained with anxiety and Harry wondered what would happen if he ever reached breaking point. Despite the popular rumours, at no stage in the past had Harry witnessed any behaviour remotely vampire-like from Snape, but after the events of yesterday, he knew a pinnacle had been reached. He patted the solid weight in the pocket of his robes and knocked on the door.

Snape opened it and glared when he saw Harry. Harry quickly slunk into the room, nervousness making his palms sweat.

“Potter,” he said, teeth grinding together as he cast the usual locking and silencing charms on the door.

Harry put down his bag and cleared his throat.

“Prepare yourself,” Snape growled, his wand pointing in Harry’s direction.

“Sir, I’d like to say something to you first,” Harry said, straightening his spine.

“We’ve nothing to say to each other. You are wasting valuable time. Prepare yourself.”

Harry’s lips tightened. “I’d rather not begin until I’ve had my say.”

Snape’s eyes narrowed. “Mister Potter – “

“I mean it, sir.” And he did. He stared Snape in the eye and hoped that the Potions professor could see his resolve.

After a few moments’ contemplation, Snape huffed and, crossing his arms tightly across his chest, said, “Whatever it is you want to say, spit it out. And make it quick.”

Harry took a deep breath and tried to calm down. He didn’t want anger to cloud what he was about to say.

“I know what happened yesterday afternoon, and I think I’ve found a way to stop it from happening again.”

Snape sneered. “What happened, Mister Potter, is that one of my bumbling students managed to injure himself doing something as simple as debarking a piece of weezlewood. The way you can stop it from happening again, is to follow my instructions and take more care in the future.”

“That’s not it,” Harry said stridently, then swore under his breath. He didn’t want to get angry. If he started yelling, Snape would start yelling, and he’d be back to the beginning.

“That’s not it,” he repeated, calmer now. “I mean about the blood. I saw how it affected you, and I’ve thought of a way to make it stop.” He reached into the pocket of his robe and pulled out a knife.

“What are you doing?” Snape asked, eyes widening.

Harry held up the knife; its sharp blade caught an edge of light and sparkled momentarily. He held the point to his open left palm.

“Stop!” Snape exclaimed, coming towards him then freezing mid-step.

“Wait,” Harry said, his face as hard as his tone. He walked slowly towards the professor, the point of the knife pressed into his palm. He stopped just out of reach and lowered his hands so Snape could see what he was doing.

“Please don’t fight me on this. I know what you need it, and I can’t watch you torture yourself anymore. Just let me do this.”

“You have no idea of what I need,” Snape spat, his eyes fixed on Harry’s hand.

“Bullshit,” Harry said, amazed at his own audacity, and the fact that Snape didn’t immediately remove points. “I don’t know what’s been happening with the rats, but it’s obvious it’s not working anymore. No offence sir, but you’re not looking well. You can’t go wandering around the castle losing it every time you see blood.”

“I didn’t lose it,” Snape whispered, his body shaking slightly.

“I know,” Harry replied just as softly, “but it was hard for you. It doesn’t need to be hard. If we do this, you can keep your secret. You can have time to work on a cure. No one will have to know.”

“What are you saying, Potter?” Snape asked, his voice tremulous.

“I want you to drink my blood.”

Snape hissed and turned away from him. Harry walked around him until he was forced to look at him again. He held up his hand, the knife poised above it. He felt totally calm. He knew this was the right thing to do.

Snape wrapped his cloak around his huddled body. “Why would you want to do this for me? You don’t even like me,” he spat.

Harry shook his head, arms still outstretched but steady. “I didn’t used to, but I’m past that now. You know I don’t hate you anymore. I…I want to. I want to help you if I can. I want to thank you for…, well, you know what for.”

Snape snorted and looked away. “I neither need nor want your pity, Potter. You don’t know what you’re letting yourself in for. I won’t use you like this. I won’t use anyone.”

“It’s not a question of using. I’m offering it to you. Don’t think of it as a gift. Think of it as, uh, I don’t know, payback.”

“For what?” Snape’s voice was low.

“For saving me before. For saving me again. You could have told them where I was. They would have found me and they could have done anything they wanted to me, but you didn’t let them. You’ve been training me all this time, when you could have been spending more time researching a cure for yourself. I want to do something to show you that I’m grateful.” Harry tried to make sure he was sounding reasonable, but felt he might have come off as sounding whiny.

“Please,” he tried again. “Just this once. If it doesn’t work out…” He let the sentence string off.

Snape looked at him intently, trying to discern if there was a hidden meaning he was missing. “I didn’t do it for you, Potter. I would have lied to protect anyone in that situation.”

Harry chuckled. “Even Neville?”

Snape allowed a small smirk to appear on his face. “In Longbottom’s case, I believe I would be doing the Dark Lord a favour by withholding the information.”

Harry laughed lightly and gestured to his palms. “Please?” he asked.

Snape looked deep into his eyes. “Legilimens,” he whispered.

Harry felt him slide slowly into his brain, seeking out the memory of that afternoon, replaying what had occurred in the Infirmary. After a few minutes, Harry felt Snape’s mind leave his gently.

“What were you hoping to find, sir?” Harry asked quietly.

“I’m not sure,” Snape said, on edge.

“If it’s about what happened in Potions –“

“Quiet,” Snape snapped, lost in thought. Harry watched as Snape internally debated his options. He hadn’t expected Snape to be overflowing with thanks, but was a bit miffed that his offer of peace and help was not being taken seriously.

“At least try it,” Harry pleaded, frustrated at his silence.

Snape stared at the wall and thought for a few moments. He sighed as he came to his decision. “Very well. Just this once, mind, and only because you have some perverse need to fulfil your martyr complex.”

Harry knew that that wasn’t what he was doing, and suspected Snape knew the same, but allowed the quip to pass. He tightened his right hand and felt the handle of the knife shift in his palm. Snape stood very close, observing but not interfering.

Harry pressed his left elbow against his body and straightened his forearm. His palm looked ridiculously soft in the light, all pink and bumpy, his calluses barely visible. He took a steadying breath and pressed the tip of the blade into the skin at the top left of his palm. Pushing in a bit deeper, he saw a drop of blood well underneath the steel.

He was aware of Snape’s breathing.

Swallowing thickly, he slid the knife down his palm before he lost courage. Passing through life and love lines, silver turned to red as the white line began to bleed steadily.

“What do I do n-?“ Harry said as he raised his head. Snape was close, very close. His taller body was slightly bent as his entire being seemed to focus on the ruby liquid start to pool in Harry’s palm. His lips were pressed tightly into a thin line and his nostrils flared.

“Do you…?” Harry began again, placing the knife on the floor and holding out his left hand up. Snape’s eyes widened and he straightened up quickly. Harry could hear his pulse in his ears as the blood continued to flow. The knife had been so sharp that he hadn’t felt any pain when he was slicing open his skin, but he could now feel a dull throbbing that echoed the pound of his heartbeat.

Snape stepped forward slowly and reluctantly reached his long fingers towards Harry’s hand. It was obvious what he wanted to do, but he was hesitant to take that final step. Harry took pity on him and closed the gap between them.

“Here,” he said softly, and raised his cupped hand to Snape’s lips. Snape’s eyes closed tightly. The tip of his tongue peeked out from his grimaced lips then disappeared. It reappeared. Harry could almost sense the bloodlust in the man and, whilst admiring his control, wanted to ease his suffering.

“Here,” Harry repeated, and pressed his hand onto Snape’s mouth. Snape’s eyes opened suddenly and Harry could feel hot streams of air puffing out quickly from his nose as the man tried to keep his mouth closed. Harry pressed harder, and smiled when he felt the mouth open slightly under his palm. The blood on his hand felt slick and sticky, and he wanted it gone. He almost jumped when he felt a tiny push of muscle. Snape’s tongue had gently touched his skin. It moved slightly in the blood and disappeared. Snape’s eyes closed as he let the taste run over his tastebuds. Harry shivered and attempted to move his hand, but Snape grabbed it quickly and pressed it hard against his mouth.

Harry felt his whole tongue now – wet and limber and lapping slowly, gathering the spilt blood and licking his palm clean. Snape let out a small groan and licked faster, his tongue nudging against the cut line of flesh. His hand held Harry’s wrist tightly, gripping so hard Harry could feel the bones in his wrist twist against each other. His breath was coming out in short, hot pants.

Harry’s wrist was starting to hurt so he tried to pull back, but Snape pulled him in tight, lowering his head until his mouth was pushing and moving all over Harry’s palm, his other hand clenched into the tense muscle of Harry’s shoulder and holding him in place.

“You’re hurting me,” Harry said, his voice low as he used his right hand to push into Snape’s chest. It was like trying to move stone. Snape’s body was hard and strong and focused.

“I said you’re hurting me,” Harry said nervously into Snape’s ear, trying to twist out of Snape’s grip and move away from his body. Snape’s lips moved wildly over Harry’s palm but it was obvious it wasn’t enough. He used his tongue to push at the open cut and sucked hard; once, twice.

“Stop it!” Harry yelled, starting to get agitated. His palm hurt, his entire wrist hurt and he couldn’t control his breathing. He knew deep down that Snape wouldn’t consciously hurt him but, leaning backward, his spine arched as he tried to remove himself from Snape’s merciless grip, his right hand pounding at the man’s chest, he wasn’t sure if and when Snape would stop. He didn’t know what would make Snape stop.

“Professor,” he shouted.

Apparently he’d finally gotten through, because Snape’s eyes opened abruptly and caught Harry’s panicked face. His mouth stopped moving, his tongue retreated and he quickly stood up and pushed Harry away.

Harry fell awkwardly and hissed when his legs twisted under his body. From his angle, he could see the look of shock that filled Snape’s face. Shock immediately changed to anger, then almost instantly became mortification. He backed away from Harry, his hands held up in supplication. Harry could see the dark patches of his own blood that smeared Snape’s lips and chin.

Snape shook his head and lifted a shaking hand to wipe his mouth. When he lowered it, his face was cleaner but his fingers were covered in rapidly thickening blood. His face fell and his eyes veiled as he groaned and fell to his knees, hiding his face in his bloody hands.

Harry panted and got to his feet unsteadily. He could see Snape’s shoulders shaking and could hear the soft moans of disbelief.

Harry looked at his wounded palm and noticed that blood was beginning to well again. He made a tight fist and walked slowly to the shattered man at his feet.

“Professor,” he said quietly, in a voice used to calm frightened children.

“It’s…it’s okay,” Harry said, resting his right hand on one of the dark shoulders.

Snape drew back with a hiss and a look of wildness. He moved away awkwardly, pushing his feet against the cool, slick stones, feet trying to find purchase.

“It’s okay. I’m not hurt,” Harry said, walking gingerly. “See?” he said, holding his palm towards Snape and opening it slowly. The blood flow had slowed, but it was obvious that it would not stop soon.

“You can’t…I can’t….you can’t trust me,” Snape said brokenly, a look of horror on his face. “I couldn’t stop. I heard you and I didn’t want to stop. I didn’t want to hurt you but I couldn’t stop,” he said empathically, despair in his voice.

“I know,” Harry soothed, kneeling beside Snape’s prone body. “It’s alright, I know. It was your first time. You did really well,” he said, raising a hand to timidly stroke Snape’s hair.

“Why are you doing this to me?” Snape asked quietly, hiding his face behind his hair.

“Doing what?”

“Being kind,” Snape whispered.

Harry moved in closer and placed his hand under Snape’s chin, gently guiding it back until they could see each other’s eyes. “I told you before, I trust you. It…it hurt a bit, but I know you’ll be more gentle this time.”

“I don’t want to anymore,” Snape said, his voice low and keening. “Don’t make me, Harry.”

“Shhh,” Harry soothed, stroking the lines out of his forehead. “You haven’t had enough. Try again. Please. I want you to. I trust you.”

Snape’s face flickered, showing confusion and want and disgust, so Harry decided to take matters into his own hands. He moved until he was kneeling behind Snape’s body, and wrapped his left arm around Snape’s neck until his palm lay waiting in front of Snape’s face. Harry pulled at him until Snape’s back was leaning comfortably against his front, his right hand steady on his shoulder.

“I trust you,” he whispered into the curtain of thick hair that covered Snape’s ear and opened his palm. He lifted it slowly to Snape’s face and, after a few seconds of hesitation, felt Snape’s tongue move against his skin.

“That’s it,” Harry encouraged, squeezing the man’s shoulder and pulling him more firmly into his embrace. Even through his shivering, Snape felt warm and solid in front of him, and he leaned into Snape’s body just as much as Snape leaned back into his. Harry could feel the bony protrusions of his spine sticking into his chest, but did not mind.

When Snape began to gently suck, steady and deep on his flesh, Harry closed his eyes and rested his cheek on the top of Snape’s head. A feeling of quiet contentment passed through him, and he watched the flames of the fire reflecting off the gleaming cauldrons.

As the feeling started to deepen into lethargy, Harry felt Snape’s tongue finish off with quick flicks, cleaning the rest of his blood from between his fingers and the pad at the base of his thumb.

“Do you know how to stop the bleeding?” Harry asked softly, not moving from his comfortable position. He felt Snape’s head nod and, after a few seconds, felt drops of cool liquid spread over his hand. Snape’s tongue pushed the fluid along and into the wound, coating the cut skin. Harry felt a tingling, then the slight pain disappeared as Snape’s saliva dressed and closed his wound.

Eventually Snape moved his mouth from Harry’s hand, but did not raise his head. Harry blinked and reluctantly lowered his arm. He rocked back on his heels and felt suddenly cold as he moved away from Snape’s body.

Minutes passed in silence, Snape didn’t stir and Harry didn’t know what to do next. He raised his healed left hand and ghosted his fingers down Snape’s taut back.

“Goodnight, Potter.” Snape’s tired voice stopped his movement.

Harry’s fingers clenched, then he quickly lowered his hand and stood up. He felt a tingling sensation sweep from his neck, through his chest and down to the soles of his feet. He wasn’t sure what caused it.

“Goodnight, Professor,” he said, slightly embarrassed and left the dungeons, leaving the man on his knees, still staring into the fire.


	6. Chapter 6

The subdued knock startled Dumbledore out of his contemplation. “Come in,” he said, covering some scrolls.

Snape entered the room, more cautiously than his usual wont.

“Severus? Is something wrong?”

Snape stared at Dumbledore, a grimace twisting his lips. “Yes, Albus. I think I can say for certain that something is wrong.”

Without waiting for an invitation, Snape lowered himself heavily into a chair, and gazed at the portraits above Dumbledore’s head. Most of the occupants were sleeping, although he could see one or two had their eyes slyly half-open.

He shook his head slightly and focussed. Dumbledore had already prepared their tea and, with a slight raise of an eyebrow, showed Snape a bottle of Ogden’s Best. Snape smiled wryly and nodded.

Once the firewhisky had been moved from inside the bottle, to the cup, to his stomach, Snape felt himself calming a bit. While he didn’t truly believe he would be reprimanded for his actions, he felt just the right amount of guilt to expect some sort of harsh word. Hell, he needed it.

“I haven’t seen you up here so late in a long time,” Dumbledore said quietly, enjoying his own hot brew.

Snape clutched his cup, feeling the heat burn his palms. Where to start?

“Not that I’m trying to hurry you, dear boy, but I assume you’re here for a reason, and putting it off will not make things easier,” Dumbledore said.

“Albus, I –“ Snape stopped and swore under his breath, wishing he could just show the man and have done with it.

“Is it about the curse?”

“I wish,” Snape snorted ruefully. “Well, it is, in its own way. The fact is, I’ve done something I’m ashamed to admit, and I don’t know how you’re going to take it.”

“Come now Severus, we’re past the point where you need to be afraid to speak to me. Surely you don’t think –“

“It’s not that. I’m quite certain that you’ll be very pleasant and understanding about the whole situation, but that is not what I need. I need you to be angry and disgusted and…ashamed.”

“Because you can’t be that for yourself?” Dumbledore twinkled.

“I hate when you do that,” Snape said morosely. “Hit me again.”

Dumbledore filled Snape’s empty cup to the brim with firewhisky. “If I get you drunk, will it make it easier for you to tell me?”

“Don’t know, but it might get you lucky,” Snape joked.

“Severus my boy, you know if I were that way inclined –“

“You would have tried something years ago, and I would have turned you down. Horny old letch.”

Dumbledore’s smile showed quite a bit of tooth. “The ladies don’t seem to mind.”

Snape snorted and quaffed his drink. “Another. Shut up, this is important.”

“My, my, it must be something significant to get you in such a huff,” Dumbledore teased.

Snape threw him a dark look. “If you weren’t such a good friend –“

“I know, I know. They would have found my rotting carcass behind the Leaky Cauldron years ago. Spit it out. I hate it when you brood.”

“I drank the boy’s blood.” There, it was out. There was no need for Snape to stipulate which boy; for both himself and Albus, there could be only one.

Dumbledore’s eyebrow rose. “Really? Does he know?”

Snape’s laugh left him involuntarily. “You really are a mad old coot. Of course he fucking knows Albus, it was his idea.”

“It must go against your grain to admit a Gryffindor has come up with something so…Slytherin,” Dumbledore said, refilling both their cups.

“Headmaster! This is serious.”

“I know it is Severus, I was just trying to lighten the mood. And don’t call me Headmaster. You really are too serious these days.”

“These days have been long.”

“And they’re not getting any shorter.” Dumbledore straightened in his seat. “Alright, enough teasing. Tell me what happened.”

Snape sighed softly. “There was an incident in the lab. Blood was spilt accidentally. His blood, but that’s not important. What is important is that I kept it under control. I had no idea that I…well, that the pull would be this strong so early. Be that as it may, he came to my quarters later that night. We yelled at each other for a bit…“

“Surprise, surprise.”

“…then he slit open his palm, shoved it in my face and forced me to drink it.”

“Forced you?” The question was asked softly.

Snape looked into his nearly empty cup, his hair swaying to cover his face. How had he managed to drink this much and not remember?

“I tried, Albus.”

They sat quietly, both lost in their thoughts. Fawkes rustled sleepily on his perch and, for once, all the gewgaws and oddments that filled Dumbledore’s office fell silent.

“What do you want me to say?” Dumbledore asked.

Snape lifted his eyes in agitation. “Tell me I did the wrong thing, damn it! Tell me I was weak, and a fool, and used a student dreadfully. Tell me I must never do it again.”

“I can’t do that, Severus,” Dumbledore said, almost apologetically.

“Why?” Snape yelled, rising from his chair. “Don’t you get it, you moronic excuse for a wizard? I drank…the blood…of a student.”

“If you’re looking for condemnation –“

“And don’t you think I should be condemned?” Snape growled, throwing his cup into the fireplace. The flames flared briefly, then settled back into their subdued yellows and oranges.

He turned suddenly and loomed over Dumbledore. “I have done the wrong thing. I have taken advantage of a student. I have used my age and my intelligence to get him to perform an unconscionable act. I am not to be trusted.”

“And there’s the rub,” Dumbledore sighed. “Sit down Severus, you’re making my neck crook. You believe you are not to be trusted, and are furious that no one pays a single bit of attention to that. I trust you, and that galls you, even after all these years. He trusts you, and it sticks in your throat. As far as I can tell, you have done nothing wrong. If you had forced Harry into anything, I’m sure he would have said something to me by now, or to one of his friends. He saw you in pain, and tried to alleviate your discomfort. That is what has made you so angry, not the fact that he’s a student, or that the curse was involved. You don’t want to be in his debt.”

“Of course I don’t,” Snape hissed. “Not another one, not after so many years.”

“And,” Dumbledore continued, ignoring the interruption, “you continue to wilfully confuse the father with the son, even when you have had ample evidence that they are not as similar as you would like to believe - as it would make you feel comfortable to believe.”

Snape backed away, rubbing his knuckles nervously over his lips. “You don’t know what I’m feeling, Albus.”

“I’m sure I have absolutely no idea of what you are going through, although it pains me to admit it. You have done so well all this time, and at the smallest sign of weakness, of giving into what is, after all, an extremely dark, extremely powerful spell, you berate yourself unjustly for it. People have driven themselves mad over this, you know.”

“I feel like I’m going mad,” Snape whispered.

“Not yet, old friend,” Dumbledore said, standing next to him and placing a hand on his shoulder. He shook it slightly until Snape raised his eyes. “You are not mad, and you are not evil. You are human.”

“I feel like I am all at once,” Snape said, brokenly.

Dumbledore smiled. “You conveniently forget the other part of you, Severus.”

“What part’s that?”

“The good. Your almost unlimitless depths of goodness.”

“How can what I am, what I’ll become, ever be good? Good enough for –“

“Good enough for whatever you want, my boy. Sometimes, good things come to you, even when you think you don’t deserve them.” Dumbledore clapped him solidly on the shoulder and moved away, giving the despairing man a moment to recompose himself.

“Is there anything else?”

Snape shook his head slowly, almost as if he were waking up. “No. No, I just wanted to tell you what was going on. I’d rather you heard it from me than –“

“And I thank you for it, although I do believe you are worrying over nothing. This will all work out in the end, you’ll see.”

“Merlin, I hate optimists,” Snape groaned. “And how much bloody whiskey did you shove down my throat?”

“Enough to enable you to sleep, and perchance to dream.”

“I hate it when you wax sentimental.”

“Well, I could always quote poetry…“

Snape’s eyes narrowed. Dumbledore’s mouth closed with a grin.

“Good night, my boy,” Dumbledore said, than laughed at how flamboyantly Snape’s robes twirled as he exited the room in a huff.

Dumbledore chuckled as he sat down and poured himself another drink. Merlin, that man was a cantankerous, ill-humoured prick, but, Merlin, how Albus loved him.

 

 

“That is one of the most ridiculous statements I’ve ever heard come out of your mouth, and Salazar knows, I’ve heard some.”

“Why is it ridiculous? You know it’ll work.”

Snape hissed. “You have no comprehension of what you’re offering.”

Harry strode closer to him and crossed his arms arrogantly on his chest. “Now you’re the one who’s being ridiculous. We’ve done it once; I don’t see why we shouldn’t do it again. You need it.”

“I _need_ it? You insufferable –“

A loud knock on the door interrupted their argument. Harry was breathing heavily and made a conscious decision to uncross his arms and take a step back. Snape glared at him, spots of fury on his cheeks as he abruptly straightened his severe black robes.

“Come in,” he barked. The door opened, and Dumbledore casually walked in, observing the men’s flushed faces and rigid stances.

“Am I interrupting something?” he asked.

“No,” Snape growled, just as Harry said, “Yes.”

They glared at each other while Dumbledore settled himself into a chair. “What seems to be the problem?”

“Nothing that concerns you. It is a moot point. Tea?” Snape asked sarcastically.

Dumbledore nodded with a slight grin and gestured Harry for to sit opposite him, while Snape threw floo powder into the fireplace and yelled out an order to the kitchens.

“Tell me, Harry.”

Harry snuck a look at Snape, whose face was stern and unmoving. He sighed heavily and slouched back. “I can’t sir. It’s not my business to tell.”

Snape’s eyebrow rose and Dumbledore looked enquiringly at his Potions Master.

“Severus, if there’s anything I can do to help –“

“Of for the love of - , you already know what we did. And he,” Snape spat, pointing at Harry, “wants to do it again.”

Dumbledore’s eyes opened wide and he looked at Harry for confirmation.

Harry nodded and rubbed his forehead. “How did you know, sir?”

“Professor Snape informed me a few nights ago.”

Harry shot Snape a look of almost betrayal. “I thought this was supposed to be a secret,” he mumbled, forehead creased in consternation.

Snape’s chin lifted. “It is. The Headmaster already knew.”

“He didn’t know about that. He didn’t know about me. How am I supposed to trust you if you keep telling people my business?”

“Why would you want to trust me, and why shouldn’t I tell the Headmaster of this,” Snape said angrily.

“Because it’s about me!” Harry yelled into his face. He looked back at Dumbledore apologetically. “Sir, you know this isn’t really why –“

“I understand Harry. Carry on,” Dumbledore said, waving his hand negligently.

Harry turned back to Snape, a look of anger appearing in his eyes again. “Let’s get one thing straight,” he said, poking his finger repeatedly in Snape’s chest. “What happens to me is my private business. You had no right –“

“I was doing it for your own good! And if you do not remove your finger from my person…” Snape hissed.

“You are such an arse,” Harry moaned. “Stop treating me like I’m a moronic child that has no idea of what he’s doing.”

“Perhaps if you stop acting like one, I would. And it is not appropriate for you to speak in such a manner to a teacher!”

“And it’s not inappropriate for a teacher and student to be locked in a dungeon at night, passing along bodily fluids? What are you going to do, take points?”

Snape’s face tightened. “Potter,…you…”

“I what, Professor?”

They found themselves back in their original position – almost chest to chest - screaming furiously in each other’s faces as neither backed down.

“Boys,” Dumbledore’s soft voice interrupted them.

Neither looked away, although they both seemed to deflate a little.

“Listen,” Harry said, slightly mollified. “Yes, you drank my blood, but I offered it to you. The way you’re acting, it’s like you jumped me in some dark corridor and did it against my will. And we both know it wasn’t like that.”

Harry’s eyes shone green with determination and annoyance, and Snape felt his resistence crumbling.

“Yes,” he offered, almost peevishly. “We both know it wasn’t like that.”

“Okay,” Harry said, then took a deep breath. His eyes flicked away almost nervously. “Yeah. Okay.”

Dumbledore cleared his throat and the two men moved away from each other awkwardly.

“Severus, the tea?” Snape nodded jerkily and waited by the fireplace for a house-elf, mumbling under his breath with indignation as he pretended to not listen to the conversation happening behind his back.

Dumbledore smiled at Harry. “Are you alright, my boy?”

“Yea -, yes sir,” Harry replied shakily as he sat down heavily. He almost groaned and rubbed his temples harshly. “God, he’s so infuriating!”

“It’s part of his charm,” Dumbledore chuckled. He looked fondly at Harry. “It was a very nice thing you did for Professor Snape, Harry, a very nice thing indeed. I would hope you’d speak to me if you had any reservations about what happened.”

“No,” Harry sighed, “I don’t regret it, it’s just – he never makes things easy!”

“Again that’s, –“

“ – part of his charm,” Harry finished, smiling wryly.

Snape deposited the tray heavily on the table between them. “Why are you grinning like a fool?”

Harry rolled his eyes. “No reason, sir.”

Snape sat down on the opposite end of the lounge to Harry, keeping as much space between them as possible.

Dumbledore chuckled. “The two of you look like agitated bookends.”

When neither man answered with more than a glare, he waved his hand and the teapot hovered over the cups, pouring the brew into them without spilling a drop. Another wave of his hand, and the individual cups, with just the right amounts of milk and sugar added, levitated themselves to the appropriate wizard.

“Now,” Dumbledore said comfortably, with his tea in one hand and a biscuit in the other, “perhaps one of you would care to explain what you were arguing about when I came in?”

Snape looked at Harry sharply, expecting him to start. Harry shook his head and sipped his tea.

“Mister Potter,” Snape said between grit teeth, “has informed me that he wishes for this…arrangement to continue. I have told him, in no uncertain terms, that he is a blithering idiot, and will cease this useless conversation at once. We have other, more important things to work on.”

“That’s not it,” Harry said, turning towards Dumbledore. “Look, if he won’t tell you properly, I will. He needs blood, sir, and he’s too stubborn to take it. I’ve offered to provide him with a regular supply, and the…well, Professor Snape won’t accept it. I don’t understand why he’s being so stubborn.”

Snape grabbed Harry’s shoulder and twisted him around. His fingers tightened as he said softly, “I will not be in the debt of another Potter. I will take nothing more from you, and your inability to see this proves you even more ridiculous than previously thought.”

“It’s not a question of debt,” Harry said, exasperated. “You said before that we were even. You’ve saved my life, I’ve saved your life, done! If you can’t function proper-“

“How dare you insinuate –“

“If you’re in pain –“

“Gentlemen!” Dumbledore’s voice was louder than either had heard in a while. Snape released Harry’s shoulder and moved away. Harry looked at him darkly and sat up straighter.

“This behaviour is counterproductive,” the Headmaster continued. “Harry, Severus, if the two of you are to continue to work together, in any capacity, you must calm yourselves. There is no need for such malice between you.”

Harry twitched and looked at Snape from behind his lowered eyelashes. The man was frozen, glaring at Dumbledore with fury. He looked at Harry and his gaze softened minutely.

“I’m sorry for yelling at you, sir,” Harry offered softly.

“I too, am apologetic at having argued with you,” Snape said, almost as if he meant it. Harry’s face fell a little, and Snape stopped himself from exploding.

“There, that wasn’t so hard, was it? Now, back to the business at hand,” Dumbledore said, rubbing his hands together.

“He’s getting weaker, sir,” Harry said, casting a rueful glance at Snape. “Not so much as anyone can tell, but I can feel it. When he’s casting Legilimens at me.”

“And I have told you,” Snape growled, “that it is you who is getting stronger at deflecting the curse. Your skills are increasing. There is no weakness on my part.”

“How do you know?” Harry said, frustrated. “Maybe you’re right, or maybe I’m right, but it’s not worth the risk. You need to have your full strength if you’re going to find a cure, and there’s no one else who can help.”

“Maybe I don’t want you to help me,” Snape hissed.

“Well maybe I want to,” Harry hissed back. Snape stared into his stubborn eyes but Harry refused to back down.

“Idiot,” Snape said finally, looking away.

“When you say it like that, it almost sounds like an endearment,” Dumbledore chuckled, then coughed slightly as two pairs of eyes swivelled his way.

“Now one thing at a time. Severus, are you feeling weaker? And the truth now, if you please. You are among friends here.”

Snape sneered. “I believe I am holding up tolerably well.”

“And Harry, did you feel any side effects after you so generously shared your blood with Professor Snape?”

Harry shook his head. “Not really. I felt a bit sleepy, but that’s probably because it was late that night and I’d had a busy day.”

“As long as you don’t over do it, you should be able to continue to help Professor Snape with no undue side effects. I’d suggest you take a blood-restoring potion the day after the fact. And since you already spend so much time in Professor Snape’s quarters, you will not have to come up with a plausible excuse for your absences. I’m sure out of the three nights a week that your lessons occur, you will find an appropriate time for this venture.”

Snape sat silently looking at his steepled fingers. Harry stared at him, looking for a reaction.

Well then,” Dumbledore said. “It seems we have reached an impasse. Harry wants to help you, Severus, and you refuse to accept his help.”

“You don’t know what you’re asking Albus, from either of us,” Snape said angrily.

Dumbledore’s face became serious. “Oh, but I do, dear boy. If there’s even a chance that your powers are failing, we must take any and all means necessary to stop that. And if there’s a chance that Harry will not succeed in his training, well, the consequences are dire.”

Snape thudded his cup onto the table and stood up angrily. “So that’s it! No matter what I want, all plans revolve around Potter. Very well Headmaster, I’ll slit his throat momentarily, just allow me to get a knife.”

“Severus.” The quiet word stopped him in his tracks. “It has never only been about Harry. You are just as important to me as he is. Do not feign ignorance to cover your wounded pride. Harry is right. If this is a way of keeping you healthy for as long as possible, then we will do it. We will do whatever it takes, and we will find a cure.”

Snape lowered his head into his hands. “Is there no one else?” he asked.

“Not unless you want more people to know about this,” Harry said to him softly. “Headmaster, I’m only trying to do what’s right.”

Dumbledore patted his knee. “I know you are Harry, as I’m sure Professor Snape does as well. Severus,” he said, causing the man to raise his head. “As much as it pains me to say it, I don’t think I would be strong enough to give you what you need on a regular basis, and the only other person who knows is not an option.”

“Someone else knows?” Harry asked, wide-eyed.

“Lupin,” Snape drawled, disgusted.

“Remus? I didn’t tell him!” Harry said hastily.

Snape gave him a peculiar look. “I never said you did.”

“As I was saying, Professor Lupin is not an option, Harry. Unfortunately, his condition prevents him from helping in this matter. No Severus, I’m afraid it all comes down to Harry.”

“Just as it always does,” Snape mumbled. He fiddled with a button on his waistcoat. “You know you can’t force me to do this.”

“I know,” Dumbledore said mildly, “although I do wish you would. I have no desire to see you suffer needlessly.”

“Me neither,” Harry added quietly.

“You must realise that this will change nothing between us. I will continue to treat you as I have always done,” Snape said harshly, pitting his dark eyes on Harry.

“I know,” Harry replied.

“And if you ever breathe a word to any-“

“You know I won’t. I promise.”

“And…and if it causes you harm, if I even suspect that this is hurting you, we will stop immediately.”

“Thank you Professor, but I still want to do this. I want to help you.”

Snape looked at Dumbledore with a downhearted expression. “Is there no other way, Albus?”

Dumbledore shook his head. “I’m afraid not, my friend.”

Snape stared intently at Harry. He saw the jaw locked in resolution, the unwavering eyes staring back at his with a hint of the fear of rejection in them. The young man’s brow furrowed.

“Very well, Harry,” Snape said sadly. “You shall help me.”


	7. Chapter 7

“Harry.”

“Remus!” Harry’s pleased voice echoed loudly in the library. He winced and slunk down in his chair as he tried to avoid the pointed stare of Hogwarts’ stern librarian.

Remus Lupin chuckled and pulled out the chair opposite Harry’s, carefully placing his battered bag on the table. “You’d think she would have mellowed with age.”

“You’d think,” Harry agreed, smiling warmly. “When did you get here? I didn’t know you were coming.”

“A few hours ago, and I hadn’t planned on it,” Remus replied to both questions. He glanced at the dusty books spread across the table. “Bit of extra research?”

Harry looked at the books, delicately closing the open one he’d been working on. He glanced around and lowered his voice. “Just wanted to see if there was anything I could do to help.”

Remus looked pensive. “From what Dumbledore has told me, it seems like you’ve been helping quite a lot already.”

“Do you have a problem with that?” Harry asked.

“No – “ Remus hesitated. “Harry, you know I have no authority over you. You can, and usually do, do what you want, when you want to. I just thought I’d check in on you. I happen to like you, after all.”

A small grin graced Harry’s face. “I’m quite fond of you as well. And to answer your questions, even the ones you’re too polite to ask – yes, I’m doing fine. No, he hasn’t been mistreating me. In fact, he’s been very nice about the whole thing. No, we haven’t been able to find a cure. Yes, I know what I’m doing. I think.”

Remus chuckled. “Well, at least you’re honest. Although I was shocked when Dumbledore told me how far you’d gone to…help. In fact, I was a bit annoyed that he hadn’t told me about this situation sooner.”

“I’m glad he didn’t. Not to be rude, but I get sick of people knowing about my business and making decisions for me.”

“Well, a one-off I can understand, but to have let this continue for weeks – “

“What would you have me do, Remus?” Harry asked, his voice low and urgent. “I couldn’t just stand by and let him suffer. It wouldn’t have been right. No matter what’s happened in the past.”

Remus’ hand slowly stroked over the soft leather of his bag. “No, I expect you’re right. It was just a bit of a shock.” He lent over and placed his hand on Harry’s. “Are you sure you’re all right? Because if this is – “

“I am,” Harry interrupted, squeezing Remus’ large, warm hand. “Believe me, he wouldn’t let it continue if it was doing me any damage.”

“That’s if you’d let him know anyway,” Remus said, looking at him pointedly.

Harry removed his hand from Remus’ grasp, took his glasses off and cleaned them slowly using the sleeve of his robe.

Remus suspected that Harry wasn’t telling him the entire truth but, as he’d said, he had no real authority over the eighteen-year-old. And, as he thought about his own youth, he realised that young men of this age were particularly difficult to sway, once their ideas had been set.

“Have you really been taking care of yourself?” Remus persisted.

Harry smiled wryly. “Yes, I’ve been taking my ‘medicine’ once a week. I haven’t lost any sleep, or felt weaker. In fact, I feel better than I have done in ages. And I’m getting better at my…studies.” He sighed. “Can we talk about something else now?”

Remus chuckled again as his hand dipped into the pocket of his crumpled cardigan. He wiggled his eyebrows at Harry as he revealed a large, shiny square of chocolate. “So, what do you think of those Cannons?”

 

 

“Any luck?”

Snape was surprisingly unconcerned when Harry’s mellow voice interrupted his reading.

“No,” he said resignedly, “just confirmation of what we already know. Damn it!” He rubbed the bridge of his nose roughly, trying to release the pressure that had been building behind his eyes for the last hour.

He could hear Harry moving up behind him. “Is there something I can get for you, sir? You’ve been getting headaches a lot lately.”

“Worried about me, Potter? Afraid I’ll keel over before you get a chance to find a miraculous cure?” he asked sardonically.

Harry chuckled, the soft sound reverberating over Snape. “Yeah, something like that. You know me – always wanting to be the problem-solver.”

Snape snorted, then sat up. He looked at the open book in front of him before slamming the covers closed angrily. “That would make a nice change from you being the problem-causer,” he said, sounding slightly amused.

Harry pulled a face, than sat on the edge of Snape’s desk. “Can I ask you something?” he asked, a swinging leg betraying his nervousness.

“You may,” Snape replied, resting his hand on Harry’s knee to stop its movement. They both froze. Snape slowly moved his hand, picked up a quill and began fidgeting with it.

“Well, I was wondering,” Harry began, a slight blush appearing on his face, “what’s it like. You know…I still see you eating and walking around in the sunlight. Occasionally,” he added, smirking.

Snape gave a fake growl and Harry took delight in ignoring it. He nudged the Potions master with his knee.

Snape sighed. “I do not appear to be suffering any undue side-effects; apart from the one you already know about. I still get hungry, although I find my preferences in food have swayed towards those with uncomplicated, clean flavours. And the sun has no more of an adverse effect on me now that it had before,” he added, raising an eyebrow.

Harry chuckled before taking a deep breath. He looked at Snape awkwardly. “And I was also wondering…if you don’t mind telling me…what it feels like. What I taste like.”

Snape’s head shot up. There was no malice in Harry’s face; he seemed to be waiting expectantly for an answer.

“I’ve never really given it much thought,” Snape lied. Harry’s expression didn’t change, but Snape knew he had not been believed. Drat the boy’s persistence!

Snape found it easier to stare at the quill when he answered.

“It feels like…like a homecoming. My body feels warm, every single particle is suffused with a gentle heat and it penetrates into every cell. It’s like the most exquisite piece of music you’ve ever heard, being composed and played right at that moment, just for you, only for you, and it changes to suit your needs. It moulds itself around your mind.”

He looked deep into Harry’s eyes and was stunned at the look of yearning he saw displayed. His voice lowered, the sound mellow and smooth. “It’s like every delicious thing you’ve tasted, every glorious smell you’ve smelt in your life is invading your senses at the same time. It flows so easily over the tongue, it’s as soft as velvet and as unsullied as snow. It’s…it’s as if every single good thing in my life coalesces into one moment, and I never want it to end because I know I would feel bereft when it leaves me.”

He stopped, slightly embarrassed at his own openness. His voice dropped to a husk. “It’s the most pure I’ve ever felt in my life and when it’s happening, I never want it to stop.”

“You…you feel these things when you…when I let you drink from me?” Harry asked in a whisper.

“Yes Harry. That’s what you do to me.”

And even though he had answered a different question, Severus knew he was, for once in his life, speaking only the truth to Harry.

“It must be hard to think about giving this up then. I don’t know if I could ever be that strong.”

Snape looked at Harry - looked at his strong profile in the dimming light, smelt the slight sweetness of his sweat - and knew that he would give up everything he had in an instant, if only he could have that one pure thing just once more.

“It will not be that difficult, in the long run,” Severus said, smiling sadly. “I am quite used to doing without what I want the most.”

Harry’s lithe fingers wrapped around Severus’ palm, making him drop the quill he had been worrying. “Maybe if I…”

“It’s getting late,” Snape cut in. “You’d best return to your rooms.” He took his hand from Harry’s and stood up.

“I can’t,” Harry said, a look of loss flitting over his face and disappearing so suddenly that Snape thought he’d imagined it. “It’s Saturday night.”

Ah, yes. Blood night.

Of course Snape did not say that out loud, but that’s how he’d begun to think of these evenings. After a hard week of teaching recalcitrant children, battling nausea every time he forced himself to eat something nourishing, collapsing to the floor every time Potter managed to fight off his attack and spending countless hours poring over arcane texts, he had the pleasure of consuming a eighteen-year-old boy’s blood.

Oh, the joys of being Severus Snape.

“Very well then,” Snape said and opened a drawer, pawing around until he found the knife. He cast a sterilisation spell on it and held it towards Harry.

Harry took it slowly, their fingers brushing lightly. He moved over to the couch and sat nervously on its edge as Snape sat next to him, keeping a good distance between their bodies.

“Sir?” Harry asked, staring at the glinting knife. “Can we try something different from now on?”

Snape could see Harry was nervous – obviously the boy’s equilibrium had been upset by their conversation.

“Is something wrong, Harry?” he asked, cautiously. He’d been using the boy’s first name a lot lately; only in the privacy of his rooms of course, but still…it wouldn’t do to become too comfortable.

“Look,” Harry said, holding his left palm towards Snape, who could see a thin, silvery scar bisecting the flesh.

Snape grabbed it forcefully, bringing it close to his face. He hissed as he ran a gentle finger down its length and noted that Harry did not flinch.

“You’re hurt,” he croaked.

“I’m not!” Harry replied, pulling his hand from Snape’s. “It…it doesn’t hurt. It’s just not healing as well as it used to. Sort of like this.”

Snape watched Harry put down the knife and extend his right hand toward him. Snape took it slowly, their palms resting upon each other as he read the legend inscribed in Harry’s flesh in scar tissue.

“Who did this to you?” he whispered, not trusting himself to speak louder.

“Umbridge,” was the equally quiet reply. Snape’s fingers convulsed tightly around Harry’s hand, then loosened almost immediately. His thumb caressed the words in mute apology.

Harry bit his lip. “It’s alright,” he said, his hand relaxing in Snape’s grip. “It doesn’t hurt. I don’t want to talk about it though.”

“Very well,” Snape said, and released Harry’s hand. He exhaled heavily and folded his hands in his lap. “Very well. This shall not continue.”

“No!” Harry blurted. “No. I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant that we should try a different place, one where the skin is softer so it’ll heal better. That’s all. I don’t want…we can still do this.”

“Harry –“

“No.” The denial was swift. “Just…no, okay? Pick a place, or I will.”

Snape’s eyes closed tight and he winced.

“Still have your headache?”

Snape nodded and Harry chuckled apologetically. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to make it worse. But it’s all right, isn’t it? I mean…we can still do this, right?”

Snape opened his eyes, looking at Harry’s earnest face. There was so much life shining right there, right there on the surface of his face and it was so easy to become enthralled by its brilliance.

“I wish I knew why you were doing this,” Snape groaned, already defeated.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” Harry grinned. “Well, come on Professor -- if you were a bloodsucking vampire that actually cared about your victim, where would you suck?”

Snape smirked and swept his eyes over Harry’s body. There were a few places…

“I suppose you have a rudimentary knowledge of human physiology?” he asked.

Harry rolled his eyes. “I don’t know what I should be more insulted about – the fact that you think I won’t understand the question, or the answer to the question itself.”

Snape’s lips twitched and he leaned back comfortably. “Why don’t you just be insulted by both? It would make my job of demeaning you so much easier.”

“Get on with it,” Harry laughed, lightly kicking him in the calf.

Snape sighed heavily. “Pulse points, Potter.”

“Pulse points Potter?” Harry said, repeating it a couple of times. “Is that one of those tongue-twister things?”

Snape barked out a dry laugh. “Idiot,” he said and grabbed Harry’s wrist, pulling his arm closer. Harry didn’t resist.

“Here,” Snape said, pressing his fingertips lightly at Harry’s wrist. “The cutaneous veins are located here. This is a pulse point. Need I explain why?”

Harry grinned. “As much as I’d like to see you froth at the mouth at my stupidity, no, I understand. Are there any others?”

Harry had removed his robe when he’d entered the room, and was clad in a T-shirt.

“Here,” Snape said, running two fingers up Harry’s bare forearm until they rested in the curve of his inner elbow.

“Here,” he repeated, pressing down, “is another pulse point. The basilic and cephalic veins lie close to the surface, and the skin is thin.”

Snape felt Harry’s arm tremble under his fingers and looked up. Harry’s breath was shallow and Snape watched as the tip of Harry’s tongue ran itself over his upper lip. Snape bit his own lip in sympathy.

“Are there any more?” Harry asked softly.

“Yes,” Snape croaked, never taking his eyes off Harry’s face. He ran his fingers slowly up Harry’s arm, skimmed over the collar of his shirt and pressed into the warm skin covering his collarbone. “This point here, the area where throat meets shoulder…”

Snape became aware of how close they were sitting; could feel the tremor that had started in Harry’s arm had travelled to the rest of his body. Harry leaned slightly into his touch. Snape cleared his throat.

“This,” he continued, trying to keep his voice dry and bookish, “is where the external jugular vein lies. It follows the path down the clavicle until it meets the internal jugular, where they both empty into the subclavian vein. Approximately…here,” he said, resting his hand lightly near Harry’s sternum.

“More?” Harry breathed.

“Yes,” Snape replied softly, feeling Harry’s heart beating rapidly under his firm chest. “There are pulse points located at the ankle, on the back of the knee, and at the femoral artery.”

“Where’s that?” Harry stammered, face flushed.

“Near your…at the juncture of the thigh and groin. Above the pelvic bone,” Snape whispered.

They were sitting so close, Snape could feel the heat of Harry’s body roiling off him. Harry’s eyes blinked rapidly behind his glasses and Snape watched his lips fall open.

“Professor…”

“Harry,” he whispered, than came to his senses. He sat back abruptly, inadvertently pushing on Harry’s chest. Snape breathed rapidly, hands clenched into fists as his jaw locked. Stupid, stupid…

“Professor?” Harry asked, leaning towards him again.

“Don’t,” Snape said, standing up. Harry looked at him in bewilderment.

“Don’t what? I just –“

Snape’s head snapped towards him. Harry looked confused. Of course – he would have no idea of what had been about to happen. He would never think about his greasy Potions master in that context.

“Potter,” he said gruffly, trying to hide his near blunder. “It’s getting late. If you wish to do this, we must begin now.”

Harry nodded uncertainly. “Where do you wa --?”

“Elbow,” Snape choked out, gesturing Harry towards him. After a few minutes of trying, they both realised that the position would not work. Even though Harry had gained a few extra inches in the last year, it was still awkward for Snape to lean over him. Eventually they settled on the both of them sitting on the lounge, Snape with his back pressed onto the back of the lounge while Harry kneeled up next to him.

“I can’t do it when you’re looking at me,” Snape said peevishly, his hands holding Harry’s forearm in place.

Harry sighed and turned his head. He let Snape make the incision, trusting the man’s greater knowledge of the human body to find the appropriate cutting place. Nevertheless he flinched, and Snape quietly apologised before lowering his head to the bleeding wound.

Harry’s stomach was pressed into Snape’s side, he lowered his arm across Snape’s shoulders to steady himself. He closed his eyes and listened – after their first disastrous attempt where Harry had practically shoved his hand down Snape’s throat, Snape was always gentle, never made a sound, and his touch was always tender as it moved across Harry’s skin.

Harry sighed again and waited for him to finish and considerately heal the wound.

 

 

Severus didn’t want to think about how Harry’s face had flushed with arousal, even if he hadn’t understood what it was. He didn’t want to remember the sound of those wet breathy whines so close to his ear as he’d sucked at the downy skin of Harry’s inner elbow. Didn’t want to remember how he’d heard Harry’s heartbeat pounding in his head, the thudding sound contrasting with the rush of blood through his veins.

He stripped mechanically and stood under the pounding water of his shower, staring at the taps but not seeing them.

He didn’t want to think about how Harry’s face had appeared perplexed as they’d finished up, how his voice had stumbled as he’d said good night and left the room hurriedly.

He lowered his chin and allowed the warm water to flow generously over his head, dripping over his closed eyes and open mouth, his neck channelling rivulets down his spine, over the curve of his arse and onto the floor.

He didn’t want to think about how hard he had been, how hard he still was, his erection a large and painful reminder of how much pleasure he had experienced only moments before. Not only at the taste of Harry’s blood, but at the scent of his fear and arousal, his eyes heavily hooded as he’d writhed against Snape’s body.

He didn’t want to think about that; so he lathered his palm and took himself in hand, stroking himself slowly, calling to mind past sexual experiences, illicit fantasies, anything to get the boy out of his mind.

Anything to get the taste of him off his tongue.

He slapped his free hand against the wall harshly, trying to maintain his balance as he sped up his strokes.

Oh god, he didn’t want to think of himself open and exposed in front of Harry, his cock glistening and straining eagerly towards Harry’s open and willing mouth. Didn’t want to think about how Harry’s hot panting breath would feel over the tip of his penis.

He lowered himself to his knees, his legs too shaky to support his body. He clenched his fist, and tried not to imagine it was Harry’s pursed lips tightening around his flesh like that. He thrust his hips, the movement of his groin sending tendrils of excitement up his back as he pushed back and forth in his soapy grip.

He didn’t want to imagine Harry kneeling in front of him, robes flung open, his naked body exposed to Severus’ eyes. Didn’t want to imagine Harry’s eyes closing languorously as he took himself in hand. Didn’t want to think about roughened, clumsy boy-man hands circling and clenching around boy-man cock, stroking himself in counterpoint to Severus plunging himself again and again into his mouth, feeling his tongue wrap around his cock as Harry sped up his strokes, eyes open in excitement, needing this, loving this just as much as Severus was, both men feeling it, wanting it, wanting it only from each other, eyes locked as they pulled and pushed and stroked and moaned and came, came together, came in torrents that were quickly washed away by warm water.

Severus slowly forced his breathing back under control, the pounding of the water on his head drowning out the pounding of his racing heart. He stood up, legs loose and knees bearing the imprint of the tiles. He shivered and washed himself hurriedly. He dried himself off roughly and collapsed into bed, welcoming the sudden oblivion of sleep but cursing what had caused it to come so sweetly.

 

 

“What are you staring at?”

Ron’s voice bought Harry back to reality. He blinked rapidly and looked around.

Ron was frowning at him while buttering his toast. Hermione’s concentration fluctuated between her breakfast and an open book. Seamus and Dean were whispering and snorting into each other’s ears as they stared at some Hufflepuff girls. Trevor resisted Neville’s attempts to feed him scrambled eggs.

All in all, a typical breakfast at the Gryffindor table.

“Huh?”

Ron huffed around his toast. “I asked what you were staring at, knobhead. What’s so interesting up there?”

Harry followed his gaze and looked up to the teacher’s table. Nothing interesting, or even unusual. Dumbledore drank tea from his seemingly bottomless cup. Flitwick and Hooch joked as they ate, Vector concentrated on reading the Daily Prophet. Snape glowered and cut into his breakfast sausages savagely.

Snape was – just being Snape.

“Bloody hell, I think all that extra study you’re putting in has damaged what little brain you have. What the hell is wrong with you this morning?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Harry retorted, slightly miffed. “I’m just a bit tired.”

“Yeah, well, you’ve been tired a lot lately,” Ron said, annoyed.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Harry said, eyes flashing as he ladled sugar on top of his cooling porridge and mixed it roughly.

“Nothing,” Ron said, repeating Harry’s earlier tone. “Just don’t know what’s going on with you anymore. You’re hardly ever around, and when you are you can’t concentrate on anything for more than two seconds. You sure those extra lessons aren’t causing you brain damage?”

“Ron!” Hermione interjected.

Harry’s spoon clanged against his bowl as he dropped it.

“You know we’re not supposed to talk about that,” Hermione whispered, looking around the table quickly. “Harry needs them.”

“Oh, don’t worry about me,” Harry said, his voice husky as his throat tightened.

Ron’s face tightened at Harry’s tone.

“I just love those extra lessons. But even more than that, I love whyI have to take them. Can’t seem to get enough of some psycho fuckwit invading my head and forcing me to watch people being tortured or worse. What’s not to love, hey? Makes me feel special,” he said bitterly.

“Harry, Ron didn’t mean it like –“ Hermione said, trying to placate him.

“Right,” Harry said, standing up abruptly and grabbing his bag. “You don’t speak for Ron. You two might be together, but he’s still got control of his own tongue. Thanks mate.”

Harry threw Ron one last glare as he stormed outside.

 

 

Harry sat at the edge of the lake, watching wisps of steam rise off the surface. The giant squid swam past leisurely, occasionally extending a tentacle as if in greeting. He dug his fingers into the moist grass and wished he hadn’t left in such a hurry.

“Hey,” a quiet voice said behind him.

Harry’s shoulders tightened abruptly. “Hey,” he said derisively.

Ron sat down beside him, keeping a bit of distance between their bodies. Neither of them looked at the other, both seemed content to watch the underwater beast perform its morning stretches.

Ron picked up a pebble and bounced it on the palm of his hand a few times. He glanced at Harry, sighed and threw the pebble into the lake.

“I’m sorry,” he said, adamant. “I was being a git. I shouldn’t have said those things.”

“No,” Harry agreed with him. “You shouldn’t have.”

Ron groaned. “What do you want me to say? I’ve already told you I’m a git. Would it help if I let you beat me up?”

Harry fought to keep a smile off his face. “No, I’d probably just hurt my fists on that thick head of yours.”

Ron chuckled and Harry finally relaxed. He looked over to his best friend who, even though he was smiling, still had a look of distress in his eyes.

“I am sorry,” Ron repeated. “I don’t know why I said it. You know I don’t think you like this stuff. I made a stupid mistake in the past, and I’m not going to let myself muck up our friendship again because I’m a prat.”

Harry grinned. “If you’re waiting for me to disagree, you’re going to be sitting here a while.”

“Wanker,” Ron said, punching Harry softly in the shoulder. He dug into his bag and pulled out a large piece of Madeira cake. He broke it in half and passed a piece to Harry. Both ate, not paying any attention to the crumbs dropping all over their robes.

“You’re starting to talk like him, you know?” Ron said around a mouthful of cake.

“Who?” Harry asked, honestly perplexed.

“Snape,” Ron replied, brushing his hands on his thighs.

“Snape?” Harry echoed.

“Yeah,” Ron said, casting a sideways glance at him. “Not all the time, but sometimes you say things that make you sound like him.”

Harry looked at the lake in astonishment. He wasn’t sure if Ron was teasing him, had picked up on something Harry wasn’t aware of, or was totally wrong.

“It’s all right, you know,” Ron continued, laying on his back and resting his head on his clasped hands. “Well, it’s not all right all right, but I can see why it might happen.”

“Really?” Harry asked weakly.

“Yeah, it’s ‘cause you’re spending so much time with him,” Ron said smugly. He rolled onto his side and propped his head up. “You spend more time with him now than you do with Hermione and me.”

“Sorry ‘bout that,” Harry said mechanically.

Ron snorted. “Don’t be an idiot. We both know what you’re doing and why you’re doing it. It just feels weird, yeah? My best mate is spending all his free time with the greasiest, gittiest professor in the school, and neither of you are dead yet. I thought for sure you’d kill him by now, or he’d hex you into a flobberworm, but Hermione was right. She said that the two of you would get on.”

“Did she now?” Harry felt a bit lost. He wasn’t contributing much to the conversation, but really, what could he say?

“Harry,” Ron said forcefully, grabbing Harry’s hand and squeezing it tight. “It’s obvious that something’s going on, right? And you don’t want to, or can’t talk about it, or else you would have said something to us by now?”

Harry just nodded.

“Okay then,” Ron said, letting his hand go abruptly. “I just want you to know – I’m your best friend, and always will be. I’ll keep your secrets for you.”

“You’ll kee – “

“Not like that,” Ron interjected. “I won’t be your secret-keeper…well, unless you want me to be one day. I’m just trying to say that if you need to get anything off your chest, I’ll listen. And no matter how bad it is, I won’t tell anyone. I promise.”

“You’d…you’d do that for me?”

Ron sighed. “The world is about to end. I have to agree with Snape. You really are an idiot.”

Harry laughed, the tight feeling that had been crushing his chest for the last hour starting to ease.

“You know I can’t tell you some things, Ron. Some aren’t my secrets to tell,” Harry said softly.

Ron cleared his throat and sat up, looking over the lake again. “I know. And some things you might not be ready to tell me yet. But I’ll be here when you are.”

Harry felt a quick shiver run up his spine. “What do you – ?”

“Nothing,” Ron said quickly. “Just…nothing, all right? I just wanted you to know that you can rely on me. I won’t…I’d never do to you what Pettigrew did to your dad.”

Harry’s throat tightened. “What if it was something really bad?” he asked hesitantly.

Ron smiled a little sadly. “When has anything to do with you not been bad?”

Harry chuckled even though his mouth tightened. “Yeah. I’m not the most normal person in the world.”

“No, you’re not,” Ron said agreeably. “But at least you’re not boring.”

Harry smiled. “I must thank Hermione.”

“Why?” Ron said suspiciously.

“You’ve turned into such a caring, sharing, New Age man – it must be her influence.”

Ron blushed slightly. “Yeah, well – shut it. You don’t know what’s it like having her on your case all the time.”

“Is it good?”

Ron waggled his eyebrow suggestively. “Oh yeah, it’s good.”

“Arggh!” Harry yelled. “I did not need that mental image. It’s like thinking about you with my sister, if I had one.”

Ron laughed. “Yeah well, I expect I’d feel the same if it was you and Ginny. But it’s not going to be, is it?”

Harry thought hard and deep. “No mate,” he eventually said. “I don’t think it is.”

Ron looked a bit sad but smiled anyway. “It’s okay, I guess. You’re already part of the family.”

The two young men smiled at each other – one with resignation, the other, with a growing awareness.

“All right, Ron?”

“All right, Harry.”


	8. Chapter 8

Snape had been quiet the last few times they’d had lessons. Not rude, just more contemplative than Harry had become used to. Severus, as Harry had began to think of him, was as polite was possible for him to be, which was saying something for a person whose reputation for rudeness was only exceeded by his reputation for cruelty.

There was something on his mind, and Harry didn’t know what it was. He didn’t like not knowing.

Occlumency lessons, while not a breeze, were becoming easier. Harry’s reflexes were so quick that Snape could only get through his defences about a quarter of the time, and only after battering at them mercilessly. It was also becoming easier for Harry to sense Snape’s mood.

“Is anything the matter, sir?” Harry asked one evening as they poured over their respective texts. It was hard to maintain enthusiasm for such a thankless task – they were no closer to a cure than they had been two months ago, but it was obvious that Snape couldn’t give up, and Harry didn’t want to. They had to find something. Failure, whether it resulted in Snape’s death or turning, was not an option.

“I’m fine, Potter,” Snape answered in a lacklustre voice. He stared morosely at the parchment he’d been writing on for the last three quarters of an hour, pulled a disgusted face, and incinerated it with a clever flick of his fingers.

“Are you sure?” Harry asked, making his way to the desk where Snape was staring dejectedly at the ashes of the destroyed parchment. Snape’s lips moved silently and the ashes wavered, than disappeared.

Snape sighed heavily. “What are you doing, Potter?” he asked, rolling his head from side to side, easing his strained shoulders.

“I’m asking you a question,” Harry said lightly. “It’s called conversation.”

Snape finally looked at him. “Bored?”

Harry shook his head and sat on the edge of the desk. “I’m sorry I haven’t been much help. I thought for sure we would have found something by now but…”

“But,” Snape continued, “time’s running out. I’m well aware of the schedule.”

“We’ve got over six months.”

“It wouldn’t matter if we had six years – I can’t find anything that will assist me. It always comes back to that same blasted poem!”

Harry soft voice recited, “By one the vessel carries, by two the vessel keens. By three there is a yearning, by four it is a need. By five the senses waken, by six the passions flare. By seven and seven and seven, the vessel must spill or be damned.”

Snape’s eyes opened in surprise and Harry blushed. “I thought it might be useful to memorise it, just in case I came across something that would help.”

“I’m impressed, Mister Potter,” Snape said in wonder.

“I’m not a total idiot,” Harry laughed lightly, rubbing the back of his neck slowly.

“I never said you were,” Snape replied. Harry raised an eyebrow and was rewarded with a snort. “Well, not lately, anyway.”

Again, that look passed between them – the one that filled Snape with trepidation and melancholy, the one that Harry was beginning to look forward to.

“It’s the Halloween ball this Saturday,” Harry said softly.

“So it is.”

“You’ll be there?” Harry asked, trying to hide his worry. He was rewarded with a bark of laughter.

“Where else would I be? But I’m quite aware that it’s generally a time for festivities. We’ll postpone our lesson and our…arrangement. You’ll be able to do whatever it is that young men do on such a night.”

“I’d rather not,” Harry said slowly. “I’d rather…can I come down and see you after it?”

“Surely you have other plans, other commitments. Won’t you be busy afterwards?” Snape said, a slight look of confusion filling his eyes.

“I’ll come down after it then,” Harry said, evading the question. He gave a small, sad grin and gently squeezed Snape’s shoulder.

“Good night Professor,” he said, and let go. Snape watched him grab his bag in silence. Harry walked to the door and cast one final, piercing look at him.

“Good night Harry,” Snape said softly as Harry closed the door behind himself.

 

 

Harry had barely closed the door behind him when he heard Leglimens being cast. His lips twisted wryly as he leant against the solid door, closing his eyes in concentration as his defences rose rapidly. After a few moments locked in silent battle, the force in his head subsided, than disappeared.

“Happy Halloween to you too!” Harry exclaimed with a grin.

Snape gave him a searing look. “You’re hiding something.”

Harry shook this hair from his eyes and pushed his glasses up his nose. “Is that all you could get from me? Good.”

“You have a secret,” Snape said darkly.

“I have many secrets,” Harry replied mysteriously. He dropped his bag in the corner and started to take off his robes. “So, tea?”

“Make yourself at home,” Snape said snidely, though with little force. He placed the order at the fireplace and froze as he turned back to Harry.

“You - ” Snape said hoarsely, “You didn’t have time to change?” Snape had seen Harry at the ball, just sitting with his fellow Gryffindors most of the time, but occasionally getting up to dance with Hermione. At one point, he’d seen Harry shake his head emphatically at both Luna and Ginny within five minutes of each other.

Harry looked self-consciously down at his clothing. “Sorry. I wanted to make sure I got here before you went to bed. It’s all right isn’t it?”

Snape nodded. It was more than all right. Hiding underneath Harry’s dress robes had been an ensemble Snape had never seen before. It made a change from Harry’s usual garb of loose-fitting jeans and tatty T-shirts. From the tips of his black polished boots to the top of his tousled head, he looked delectable. His sharply creased black dinner pants were held up by a belt with a discrete gold clasp. His shirt was red; red like the sky at dusk before a scorching day, red like the skin of crisp new apple. Red like vintage wine. Red like blood.

Snape felt slightly disgusted with himself.

Harry started to redden. He self-consciously fiddled with the button holding his cuffs closed.

“You look…” Snape began. They stared at each other silently.

“Have you another engagement?” Snape said suddenly. Harry looked at him in confusion. “Your…”

“No,” Harry said softly, lowering his head. “I just…”

“Do not hold back the truth for fear of hurting my feelings. Whilst I appreciate your…donations, postponing them for a few days will not cause me any pain. If you have made alternate arrangements, I won’t…”

Harry chucked morosely. “Look, I’m not going anywhere, okay?” He ran his hands threw his hair, messing it up considerably. “Can we just - ?”

“Just what?” Snape said, trying to hold back his curiosity.

“Just – tea. Let’s just drink our tea,” Harry said, averting his eyes and collecting the tray that had just levitated out of the fireplace.

Snape gave him one more piercing glare and took the tray out of his hands.

“Here,” Harry said abruptly as Snape sat down. He shoved a rectangular package towards him.

Snape knew what it was the moment he saw it and couldn’t hide the small smile that graced his face. He delicately picked up the packet of Tim Tams and opened the packet.

“Remarkably, they appear to be all here, and untampered with,” he said, trying to hide the pleasure in his voice.

“Yeah, well…” Harry stammered. “I knew you liked them, and I happened to come across a packet…it’s not ‘cause it’s Halloween, or a gift or anything. It’s just a coincidence.”

Snape, who did not believe in coincidences or fate or any of that other nonsense that meant one wasn’t in charge of one’s own destiny, allowed his smirk to surface.

“Of course not, Mister Potter.” He extended the tray and wordlessly offered the first biscuit to Harry.

 

 

“Anything?”

“Are you going to ask me the same question every single day?” Snape snapped.

“No, only the days that I see you,” Harry grinned, getting up from the lounge and stretching the kinks out of his back. His shirt rose up and revealed a small patch of stomach. Snape looked away from the dark line of hair that started under his navel and meandered towards his zipper. Harry caught the direction of his gaze and lowered his arms, a slight blush appearing on his face.

“Would you like me to get you another cup of tea?” he asked nervously.

“No point,” Snape said, looking distracted. “You’ve eaten all the biscuits.”

“So I did.” Harry shot a glance at him, cleared his throat, and asked, “So, would you like to…?”

“Yes,” Snape said quickly and almost winced at his display of eagerness. “Ah. Yes. About that. There’s been a development in that…area.”

That peaked the boy’s interest. Snape fought manfully to keep the blush he could feel building from appearing in his cheeks.

“It seems that I’ve – “ he broke off. Stupid to get embarrassed over what was a normal development. Well, normal for what he was experiencing, he thought ruefully.

“What is it Professor? You know I won’t tell anyone,” Harry said. “You’re not in any pain, are you?”

Snape shook his head to negate both his questions. He grimaced. “Perhaps it was to be expected, but I’m still shocked to find it happening to my own body.” Harry continued to stare at him, biting his lip unconsciously.

“I seem to have developed,” Snape’s voice fell to a whisper, “fangs.”

“Fangs?” Harry all but yelled. The blush that Snape had been fighting to hold back flooded his cheeks.

“Sorry. Sorry, sir. It’s just that…can I see them?”

Snape looked at Harry in astonishment. Of all the reactions he’d been expecting, eagerness was not one of them.

Harry noticed his discomfort and hung his head slightly. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have asked such a personal request.”

Snape’s hands clenched tightly then relaxed. “It’s…it’s to be expected, I suppose. It’s not often one is in the presence of a vampire.”

“You’re not,” Harry shot back.

“Aren’t I?” Snape chuckled morosely. “My senses have magnified to the point of being able to identify – purely by their scent - the person knocking at my door. My strength has increased ten-fold, and I drink blood. If I weren’t a vampire, I’d be worried about the state of my mental health.”

“Yeah, well…you may have all the traits of one, but you’re not.” The ‘not yet’ at the end of that sentence was unspoken. “So, should we just get to it then?” Harry mumbled.

“Potter,” Snape sighed, and gestured him over. Harry walked hesitantly towards him. Snape stood with his hands crossed tightly across his chest, his face expressionless. Harry raised his gaze from the man’s stomach, up his neck, over the closed mouth, and on to the fathomless eyes. Snape gave him a little smirk and Harry relaxed. The smirk increased, the upper lip thinned and drew back, the lower lip tucked under, and Harry could see…

The slightly yellowed canine teeth of the Potions master had elongated and sharpened to a point. They gleamed sharply in the dim light. One was pressed into the soft flesh of Snape’s lower lip.

“Do they hurt?” Harry whispered. Snape shook his head slightly, never taking his eyes from Harry’s face.

“Are they like that all the time?” Harry enquired, determined to stop staring and looked Snape in the eye.

“No, I need to concentrate to make them extend or retract.” Snape appeared to be more comfortable now that he’d shown Harry the worst.

“Can I -?” Harry asked, lifting a finger to Snape’s mouth. Something flashed in Snape’s eyes, than he nodded slowly. He parted his lips further and Harry touched the tip of one pointed tooth with his finger.

“They look wickedly sharp,” Harry whispered, pressing in a bit. “Oh!” he said, as he felt the tip pierce his skin. He pulled his hand away and noticed a small drop of blood welling on the surface of his skin. He lifted the cut to his mouth and sucked on it gently.

Snape shuddered.

Harry noticed. He gave his finger one last suck and pressed his thumb against it to stop the bleeding.

“I’d like to try something different tonight, sir.”

“And what would that be?” Snape rumbled.

“Another pulse point,” Harry said, his hand trailing up his torso. “Here,” he said, pushing into the hollow of his collarbone.

“I don’t think –“

“I’d like to, sir. Seems a waste to use the knife when we don’t have to, and I’d rather you bit me here than…” he trailed off, seeing a gleam in Snape’s eyes. Harry swallowed thickly and began to undo the top button of his shirt.

He kept his eyes lowered, but could hear Snape’s deep, shuddering breaths. He undid another button, revealing more of his sparsely furred chest. He undid a third…

“Stop,” Snape said, placing his hands on Harry’s shoulders and turning him away roughly. “Just…stop for one moment.”

Harry stood as if frozen, feeling the heavy weight of Snape’s hands on his shoulders, and wondered if the slight tremor he could feel was from the man standing behind him, or his own nervous body’s reaction. The thick material of Snape’s robes swung and brushed against the back of Harry’s legs, causing his knees to buckle slightly.

“Harry,” Snape muttered, his voice low and gravelly in Harry’s ear. “I –“

“Please, sir. I want you to,” Harry whispered. The hands on his shoulders tightened painfully, then abruptly relaxed. He definitely felt a tremor pass through Snape’s hands then.

Snape’s long-fingered, potion-stained hands left his shoulders, and moved into Harry’s vision. They gently moved Harry’s hands away from his shirt and rested on the open folds. Harry took in a deep breath and straightened up. He could feel Snape’s breathe on the back of his neck.

The fingers carefully unfastened the remaining buttons until Harry’s shirt hung open, exposing his upper torso. Hands moved almost reluctantly, stripping collar from throat, fabric from shoulder. Skin was bared.

“Is this all right?” Snape asked. Harry nodded then, taking another deep breath, said “I’m fine, sir. You can keep going.”

Harry felt Snape’s left hand rest lightly on his hip, holding him in place. Snape’s other hand smoothed down his bicep, holding the shirt out of the way.

“You’ll tell me if this hurts. I’ve never done this before. I can stop,” Snape whispered, his words stirring the hair around Harry’s temple. Harry nodded again and shakily put his own hand on top of the one resting on his hip. He entwined their fingers and felt Snape squeeze in sympathy.

Snape stepped closer, and Harry closed his eyes, letting his head fall back until it hit Snape’s shoulder. He felt Snape’s warm breath flutter across the naked skin of his neck, and he tilted his head to the left, exposing more.

He felt Snape’s body tremble so he squeezed their fingers more tightly together. A slight wetness tickled his neck and realised it was Snape’s tongue, preparing him for penetration. Harry gasped. Snape pressed his tongue down harder, laving the area slowly, running his tongue over the juncture of neck and shoulder, repeating the movements with the deliberation of a cat cleaning itself.

“ _Now. Please, now_ ,” Harry begged silently, a harsh pant escaping his mouth as he felt a tooth pierce his skin. It sliced into his neck with the ease of a knife and, a second later, the other jagged tooth punctured his neck. Harry felt Snape’s hot mouth close over the wound.

For a moment, neither moved, then Harry felt a gentle suction. His legs trembled so hard he could barely stand. Snape’s mouth tightened and the suction increased.

“Ahhh!” Harry moaned and, still grasping Snape’s hand in his, tugged it forward until it rested on the warm curve of his stomach. Snape made a soft noise and his right hand moved from Harry’s bicep, brushing his arm and stroking over the tight skin covering Harry’s clavicle until it came to rest just above his heart.

Harry sunk back into the embrace, his mouth falling open as overwhelming sensations raced through his body. Snape was a solid, hard heat behind him, both supporting him and making him swoon. The pull on his throat was relentless now. Snape’s lips and tongue worked as he avidly swallowed the flowing blood.

Harry was lost in the pull of Snape’s feeding, the strength of Snape’s embrace as he stood motionless against the arousal flowing through his veins. He pulled Snape’s arm closer to his stomach, shivering as cool fingers flattened over his trembling flesh.

The fingers of Snape’s right hand curled, digging forcibly into the tender skin in a way that was sure to leave marks - his palm a searing heat over Harry’s heart. Harry writhed, not wanting to get away, just needing to burn the excess energy filling his body. Snape gasped as Harry rubbed against his erection, and quickly moved away.

“What - ?” Harry said groggily, eyes opening. His neck felt cold now that Snape had removed his mouth - cold and sticky. He realised blearily that blood was flowing unevenly down his chest.

Snape groaned and grabbed Harry by the shoulders. He opened his mouth, letting the tiny spurts of warm blood hit his lips as he eagerly smoothed them over the source of the wound. Panting, he clamped his mouth onto Harry’s neck, giving a few final sucks.

Harry felt Snape’s mouth starting to soften, the suction starting to lessen as Snape’s thirst finally became quenched. Eventually, the mouth stopped moving. Snape’s thin lips rested on Harry’s throat, still and slightly damp.

“Sir?” A shiver ran down Harry’s spine. He breathed deeply, filling his lungs with air.

Snape’s lips parted and his soft, wet tongue moved slowly over Harry’s skin - the cooling and healing effects of his saliva working rapidly to mend the pierced flesh.

Gradually that stopped too, and the two men remained motionless in each other’s arms. Snape rested his forehead against the back of Harry’s head and let his arms drop. Shivering at the sudden loss of warmth, Harry could feel Snape’s slow release of breath.

“Was that all right?” he heard Snape ask hesitantly. Harry didn’t feel like he could move anytime soon, but still managed a weak grin.

“Yes, sir,” he said. “That was fine.”

 

 

Snape sat slumped in an armchair, obsessively biting the skin covering his knuckles as he replayed the night’s events again. He looked over to the patch of floor where he and the boy had recently stood.

There, he thought in astonishment, there is the place where I did it. There, on that entirely unremarkable spot, I unfastened the buttons of Harry Potter’s shirt. There, I bit into his throat and drank deeply of his blood as he writhed in my arms.

Snape shook his head in bewilderment. The lines of propriety had already been blurred when he had first allowed himself to slake his bloodthirst with a student. Tonight he had a gone a step further, obliterating the line almost completely.

He continued to stare blankly at the floor. There, he had held the boy (man, his mind inserted treacherously) in his arms, pulled him into his embrace and guzzled his blood like it was mother’s milk. There, he had felt the silken softness of the boy’s belly under his questing fingers. There, he had felt the hard, rapid pounding of Harry’s heart under the firm muscles of his chest. There, Harry had pressed himself back into his body and felt the unmistakable form of his heavy erection. And had not moved away.

Severus shivered, wondering what would have happened if he hadn’t been the one to step back.

 

 

Harry lay on his back, the curtains surrounding his bed pulled tightly shut. He bit his lip then whispered, casting a Silencing spell around his immediate location. Instantaneously, the loud snores of his roommates disappeared.

Lying now in his bed, he replayed the evening in his head. Harry writhed in his bed, the sheets cool and soft against his naked body.

After healing the wounds on his neck, and ensuring himself that Harry was not suffering any pain, Snape had left abruptly, muttering a gruff explanation about a potion that needed checking. Before Harry could say anything, the professor had stormed out of the room, nearly slamming the door behind him in his haste.

Harry had done up his shirt with trembling hands and gathered his things. He thought about extinguishing the fire but deciding to leave it burning for Snape’s return. He stood at the doorway for a moment, his eyes picking up small details in the gloom. There, their books lay scattered on the desk. There were their two empty teacups lying next to the empty packet of biscuits. He took a deep breath, hoping to smell blood but the air was scentless.

He remembered the inherent strength of Snape’s body as it supported him, recalled the sensation of hands moving over his skin, could almost still feel teeth on the side of his throat.

Harry’s fingers ghosted over the spot, wondering at the complete lack of marks that should have displayed the night’s events. His other hand moved slowly down his body, following the trail of rough hair that flowed over his stomach and expanded into a full thatch above his groin. He gasped as his palm wrapped carefully around his full prick, feeling its heavy, blood-engorged weight. He moved his hand slowly up and down the length, imagining his fingers were longer, cooler, and gripped tighter than he would normally clench. Unlike previous times, he didn’t hold back his thoughts, didn’t let the images dance away from his mind, as fleeting and as insubstantial as unwanted spectres.

Snape’s eyes were the ones Harry fantasised about, looking deeply into his own mind. _His_ arms, strong and slender and rigid with control. _His_ lips, twisting and smirking and sipping tea and letting the tip of a feathered quill rub slowly over them. _His_ hands, _his_ fingers, _his_ palm, wrapped around Harry’s cock, pumping him mercilessly, just as demanding here as he was in lessons, just as unceasing, just as methodically, just as…

Even though he was protected by a Silencing spell, Harry bit his lip as he came. Not a sound leaving his mouth even though in his head he screamed, “Severus!”


	9. Chapter 9

“What’s wrong with you today?”

For once, it was Hermione’s voice that berated Harry at the dinner table.

He shook his head, turning his gaze back to his food. “Nothing.”

Her lips twisted unpleasantly. “I don’t believe that, and I can’t believe you think we’d fall for that. Something’s obviously bothering you – “

“Leave him, will you?” Ron snapped. “He said he’s all right so get off his back.”

Hermione looked at Ron, betrayal flittering over her face. She hardened her lips again. “Fine,” she said, pushing herself away from the table. She gathered her things jerkily, fumbling as she closed the clips of her bag. “I’ll be in the library.”

Harry sighed as she stormed away. “You didn’t have to be so harsh with her.”

“Well, she didn’t have to badger you,” Ron said, pushing his food around his plate.

“I think she was about to cry.”

“Oh bugger,” Ron swore under his breath. He looked at Harry, worry creasing his forehead.

“Go on,” Harry smiled. “I’ll be all right, and you’ll want to make it up to her before you have an argument about it.”

Ron still looked uneasy – torn between the desire to make things right with his girlfriend and his wish to make sure his best friend was okay.

“I’m fine,” Harry reiterated. “Go find her before she works herself up. I’ll apologise to her later.”

“You’ve got nothing to apologise for,” Ron said strongly. “If you don’t feel like talking – “

“But you two are my best friends,” Harry said, “and if I can’t talk to you, who would I talk too? Besides, I really am okay. Better than I have been in a while.”

“You’ve been quiet.”

A pause. “I’ve been thinking.”

“Want to talk about it?”

“Not yet. Not till I’m…sure.”

Ron’s face fell in resignation. “It’s going to be big, isn’t it?”

Harry chuckled. “I really don’t know.”

Ron sighed, stood up and clapped Harry hard on the back. “You’re worse than Trelawney. I’ll see you later?”

Harry nodded and watched his friend leave the hall. Most of the Gryffindors had already left. Harry sat in his own personal circle of peace. Students from other houses, from other year groups, talked and joked and ate, oblivious to his presence. Harry was glad, he wanted to simply sit and be for once.

He looked up to the staff table. Almost instantly, Snape swung round and caught him staring. Harry smiled hesitantly. Snape’s forehead creased. He threw his linen napkin on top of his plate, pushed away from the table, and was gone before Harry could count to three.

Harry frowned. Noticing the Headmaster watching him, he lowered his head, grabbed his bag, and slowly made his way down to the dungeons.

 

 

“Oh. You’ve come.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Harry asked, puzzled.

Snape shook his head slightly and leaned against the doorjamb. “I’m sorry to change our plans at such short notice, but something has come up. I’m afraid we won’t be able to have our lesson tonight.”

“What? I mean, er, is there something wrong?” Harry stammered.

Snape frowned down at him. “No, there is nothing _wrong_. I have simply made other arrangements for the evening. It was remiss of me to not inform you sooner, but no doubt you have other things – oh for heavens sake, Potter! What is the matter?”

Harry continued staring at Snape’s shoes. Only the tips were visible under his robes, but what could be seen peeking out were very shiny.

“Nothing, sir,” he said, dejectedly.

Snape grimaced and grabbed Harry by the arm. “Get in,” he said, dragging a reluctant Harry into his rooms. As soon as they were inside, Snape let go of his arm and spelled the door shut.

“What is the problem, Mister Potter?” he ground out.

Ouch. Mister Potter. He hadn’t heard that outside of Potions in a while. He blinked rapidly, took a deep breath and said with a false smile, “Nothing, sir. I’m sorry to have troubled you. You certainly don’t need to tell me any of your private business. Perhaps we could reschedule for another night, when you aren’t so busy?”

Snape looked at him suspiciously. “You’re not going to let this go until you know what I’m up to, are you?”

Harry glared at him. “You don’t have to tell me anything. I understand. Everyone has secrets. I don’t want to intrude.”

Snape hissed. “You really are the most ungrateful, annoying brat it has ever been my misfortune –“

“Will that be all, sir?” Harry asked, eyes hard.

“No,” Snape spat. “It will not be all. Since you have such a keen interest in my affairs, I will tell you what’s going on. Perhaps then you will stop pulling that face.”

“What face?” Harry said, hotly.

“That face,” Snape mocked. “The one that looks like someone’s just taken your last chocolate frog.”

“I swear, if you weren’t my teacher –“

“But I am,” came the swift reply.

“Yeah, well,” Harry said self-consciously. He stared at Snape’s feet again. “I didn’t come here to argue, you know.”

He heard Snape sigh above him. “Yes, I know. It’s a shame though.”

Harry’s eyes shot up and he stared at Snape with tightly controlled fury. Snape’s eyelids lowered. It was as close as Harry was going to get to him backing down, so he took it.

“If I’m going to be in the way, I don’t mind leaving,” Harry said, softly.

“No, you won’t be in the way. It’s just that…I don’t hold great hopes in succeeding tonight, and did not want to get anyone’s hopes up. Nor have anyone else witness my failures,” he added with a grimace. “My own hopes are used to being denied. I’ve had years of practice.”

“Have you found something?” Harry said eagerly.

Snape’s eyes gleamed. “I think I may have. Come.”

Harry followed Snape impatiently to his messy desk.

“Read,” Snape said. He handed Harry a worn piece of parchment. Even though it was crumpled and had slight stains on its edges, the words were as crisp and as legible as the day they’d been written.

“But it’s just the poem,” Harry said, bewildered.

“Yes,” Snape agreed, “but look at the last line.”

“The vessel must spill or be damned,” Harry recited. “I don’t get it. How’s that different to what we thought before?”

“It’s not different,” Snape muttered, taking the parchment from Harry’s hands and slapping it back onto the table. “The poem is exactly the same, it is only my interpretation of it that has changed. The vessel must spill – how much needs to be spilt? Will one incident be enough to halt the curse, or does it need to occur on a regular basis?”

“If you don’t need to spill all your blood,” Harry said with growing awareness, “you don’t need to die.”

“No,” Snape smirked. “I don’t.”

“But that’s brilliant!” Harry shouted. “What do we need to do?”

Snape’s eyes widened momentarily at Harry’s enthusiasm. Harry grinned at him widely in excitement.

“We don’t need to do anything. I need to spill my blood. And I was just about to, when you so rudely interrupted me,” Snape said.

“Not bloody likely,” Harry chuckled, “I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

Snape’s lips twisted. “Eager to see if my blood is as red as yours, Potter?”

Harry’s eyebrow cocked. “I’d be just as happy to have proof that you’re human. Sir,” he added, cheekily.

Snape shook his head. “Don’t suppose I could convince you turn around and pretend we’ve never had this conversation?”

Harry grinned.

Snape sighed. “Oh well. If it wasn’t you, no doubt Dumbledore would be sticking his nose in.”

 

 

“Are you comfortable, sir? Is there anything I can get you?” Harry asked eagerly.

“You can sit down and stop fussing!” Snape snapped. He settled himself more comfortably in his chair. “Sit and be silent.”

To Snape’s disconcertion, Harry did not move to the lounge, rather he perched himself on the edge of Snape’s desk. Snape sighed and moved the small cauldron closer to his body. His left arm lay supine on the desk, the knife they’d used previously for cutting Harry already sterilised and gleaming sharply in the dim light. Harry had enquired whether Snape would bite into his arm instead of using the knife, to which Snape had given him such a withering glare that Harry had blushed.

Snape looked at Harry seriously. “You are not to touch anything. By anything, I mean anything. Not the knife, not the cauldron, not myself. Particularly not the blood. Even though I’m not taking from you now, we don’t know how long the residual spell lies in wait for reciprocation. If you are turned through your idiocy or my inattention, I’ll do the Dark Lord a favour and kill myself before Albus gets his hands on me. Is that clear, Potter?”

Harry nodded gravely. “Yes, sir. I won’t touch a thing, no matter what happens. If something looks like it’s going wrong, I’ll leave immediately and get the Headmaster.”

Snape looked at Harry suspiciously. “Somehow, I don’t think your Gryffindor bravery will allow you to do that easily.”

“I wouldn’t want to, sir, but I promise. No heroics from me.”

Snape sighed. “If only I could have that in writing.”

Harry chuckled softly and moved his body away slightly. “Okay, sir. Ready when you are.”

Snape nodded and lifted his right hand to undo the small buttons at the cuff of his sleeve. He paused, and sneaked a slightly apprehensive look Harry’s way.

Harry broke eye contact, looked at the covered section of Snape’s left forearm and than raised his eyes back to Snape, smiling slightly.

Snape nodded again, the tension in his stomach uncoiling slightly. He rolled his sleeve up slowly, the blue-white smoothness of his inner wrist giving way to the black smudge of his Death-Eater Dark Mark. He pushed the material up until it was above his elbow. Both men stared at Snape’s arm.

“Well,” Snape said.

“Would you like the knife?” Harry asked, considerately. Snape nodded so Harry carefully passed him the knife, making sure his fingers were nowhere near the blade. Snape took it in his right hand and lifted his left arm. Harry pushed the cauldron over and Snape rested his arm on it, his elbow lying in the middle.

“Very well then,” Snape said, and without hesitation, cut into the biggest vein visible in the curve of his elbow. His blood started to flow immediately, oozing thickly over his arm and into the waiting cauldron. He and Harry stared at it in fascination.

“Does it hurt?” Harry whispered.

“No,” Snape whispered back, and wondered why they were being so quiet. Minutes passed in silence, the flow of blood did not ease, although Snape’s breathing started to quicken.

Harry looked at him worriedly. “Isn’t that enough yet, sir? You’ve already lost a lot of blood. You’re not looking well.”

And Snape was not feeling well. He was finding it increasingly difficult to control his breathing, even though he was forcing himself to take slow, deep breaths. He dropped the knife on the desk and passed his hand over his forehead. It came away wet with clammy sweat.

“I think you should stop now,” Harry said, his voice becoming harder. “Can you stop it like you do mine?”

Snape shook his head. “I don’t think I’ll be able to. Pass me my wand.”

Harry passed it to him carefully, feeling a tingle pass up his arm as he held the unfamiliar wand. Snape took it and waved it over the wound, whispering a healing incantation.

The flow of blood slowed instantly, the river of red diminishing to a trickle.

“Should I-?” Harry began, reaching towards the cauldron.

“Don’t”! Snape said abruptly. His voice softened as he looked at Harry’s worried face. “We don’t know how it will affect you. It’s nearly stopped. Go order us some tea.”

Harry nodded slowly and jumped off the desk, landing on his feet unsteadily. Snape looked back at his arm, the mahogany stain of drying blood almost completely covering his Mark. He put his wand down and pressed his palm over the wound. He whispered again and felt the sudden sizzle of wandless magic zap into his skin and close the wound. With great weariness, he picked up his wand again and muttered over the cauldron, disappearing the blood and spelling the cauldron and knife clean.

When all evidence of his tainted blood had been removed, he sat back in his chair and closed his eyes.

 

 

“You’re not looking too good.”

Snape blearily opened an eye. Harry was sitting on the edge of his seat, his body held stiff as he looked at Snape with concern.

“Once again, Mister Potter,” Snape drawled wearily, “I am amazed at your phenomenal powers of observation.”

Harry grinned, the anxiety appearing to bleed out of his body effortlessly. “Well, you sound like your usual charming self, so you can’t be feeling that bad. But you are looking pale. Paler than usual.”

Snape sat up stiffly and attempted to suppress a grunt. Even though he was trying to appear stoic, he really wasn’t feeling all that well. Typical that the brat had noticed, and had actually commented on it.

“So do you think it worked?” Harry asked anxiously.

Snape dropped his head and closed his eyes. He relaxed his mind, letting his consciousness expand until he could feel it tickle the limits of the room. He could hear Harry’s slightly trembling breaths, could smell Harry’s distinctively light-toned sweat, could smell his own muskier perspiration. With a tiny thrust of concentration, he focussed on his teeth, and felt his canines extend and sharpen. He touched the tip of one lightly with his tongue and opened his eyes. “No, I believe it has failed.”

Harry grimaced. “I’m really sorry,” he said, softly.

Snape returned his grimace. “No matter. It was just an idea, and not a very good one at that. I’m not grasping at straws yet.”

Harry stood up and came to stand by his side. He rested a gentle hand on Snape’s shoulder. “We’re not giving up.”

Harry’s eyes shone with determination. Snape was overwhelmed with the amount of conviction he saw shining there, the hard steel of his gaze. Sometimes he forgot how truly powerful Potter was. So much raw power, and so little of it tapped.

“So,” Harry said, lifting his hand from Snape’s shoulder, “I think you need something to get your strength back up.”

Snape’s lips twisted as his stomach roiled. “I’m afraid I don’t really feel like anything, but you are welcome to help yourself to more tea.”

“I wasn’t thinking about that,” Harry replied, hands moving to his school tie.

“What are you doing?” Snape asked in bewilderment.

“What’s it look like?” Harry chuckled. “You need to feed. Lucky for you, lunch is served.”

“Potter, it isn’t nece – “

“No, it’s not,” Harry said sharply, hands still. “It’s not necessary, and it’s not Saturday and we’re still going to bloody do it, okay? I can tell you’re feeling weak, and I know this will make you feel better. So just drop it, all right?”

Harry’s hands started working again, his nimble fingers making short work of his tie as he loosened it and pulled it from his collar. He dropped it to the floor nonchalantly. “And I hate it when you call me Potter.”

“Harry then,” Snape said, annoyed at being interrupted. “Harry, I don’t think I even have the energy to stand up at the moment. If you just give me some time –“

“No. No time, Severus. Is it all right if I call you that, just when we’re by ourselves?”

And for the life of him Snape couldn’t think of a reason why he should say no. He nodded slowly and Harry let out the breath he’d been holding. “Okay, you need to move.”

Before Snape could protest that he’d already told Harry he didn’t have the energy required to do anything, Harry had tugged at the side of his chair, indicating that Snape should push back and around until he was sitting parallel to his desk. Snape’s arms crossed tightly across his chest. “What do you think you are doin - ?”

Without ceremony, Harry plonked himself onto Snape’s thighs, straddling his legs easily. “There,” Harry said, slightly breathless. “This will work, won’t it?”

Snape’s eyes shone with fury. “Mister Potter, this will most certainly not work. Kindly remove yourself from my lap.”

“I’m not really on your lap yet, just your knees,” Harry grinned, flicking his fringe off his forehead.

“You know exactly what I mean,” Snape growled. “Stop being belligerent. This is entirely inappropriate in ways – “

“Still got your fangs?” Harry asked, effectively ignoring Snape’s obvious frustration.

“Harry,” Snape said darkly, lips curling into a cruel smile that quite clearly showed the deadly tips, “if you don’t - , what are you doing?”

Harry grinned again. “Should be obvious. I’m undoing my shirt.”

“But – “ And again Snape was struck dumb as he watched Harry’s lithe fingers carefully undo the clear buttons holding his shirt closed. The fingers skimmed down his torso until the white fabric was pulled apart and Harry’s bare chest was in front of Snape’s astounded face.

“Here,” Harry said, pulling the collar of the shirt back until the fabric pooled below his shoulders. He leaned forward slightly and tilted his head, exposing the smooth skin of his neck.

Snape was supremely aware of his heart rate, and wondered if Harry could hear its frantic tempo. “I can’t – “

“Yes, you can,” Harry soothed. “You need this. It’s not like we haven’t done it before.”

And again, Snape could think of no reason to turn him down.

He lifted his hand slowly, trailing a long finger along the line of Harry’s jaw, down the soft expanse of neck until it rested in the hollow at the base of his throat. He could see Harry’s chest moving with quick, shallow gasps, could see the shine of saliva the boy had left on his bottom lip by licking it. Snape saw Harry’s eyes darken, and his hands betrayed his nervousness by trembling.

Snape tilted his head to the side and rested his face on Harry’s shoulder. He took a deep breath, acclimatising himself to Harry’s scent. He could feel the fast, rhythmic pulse of the vein that lay close to the surface, bringing Harry’s blood to within a millimetre of his lips.

He licked the pulse point slowly.

Harry shuddered and put his hands on Snape’s shoulders to steady himself.

Snape placed his hands carefully on Harry’s hips and licked again, pressing his tongue into the skin, letting the flavour roll in his mouth.

A low keening sound escaped Harry’s mouth, and Snape was powerfully aware of it, just as he was aware of a myriad of other things happening at the exact same moment. He could feel saliva collecting at the back of his mouth as his body anticipated the sweetness it was about to taste, could feel his lips pull back tightly, baring his fangs to the cold dungeon air, could feel the increase in the body temperatures of both of them.

He bit.

When he was fully embedded in Harry’s vein, Snape exhaled with shaky pleasure. The blood that burst into his mouth seemed to trigger a jolt of energy. He felt his muscles begin to loosen, his very cells begin to expand. His eyes rolled back in his head in ecstasy as he sucked voraciously.

Harry’s trembling had turned into random jerking movements, all of them bringing him closer to Snape. He pushed his feet against the floor and moved until his chest was pressed tight against Snape’s. He wrapped his legs around the back of the chair and squeezed, his pelvis tilting until his hardness was pressed into Snape’s stomach.

He let out a whine of pleasure as Snape groaned and moved his hands from Harry’s hips, wrapping his arms around his lower back and pulling him in tighter, so tight there was no space between them. Snape opened his mouth wider and sucked harder, blood trickling from the side of his mouth as he ran his tongue over and over the twin puncture points, catching each drop before it had a chance to roll down Harry’s chest.

Harry arched his back, his head falling back in pleasure as he began to rock against Snape, rubbing his cock – constricted by the tight fit of his pants - against the firm body of his professor.

Snape hissed against the sweaty neck of his willing victim. He moved his hands back to Harry’s hips, fingers digging cruelly into bone as he pulled the boy into himself - pulled Harry hard and precisely against his stomach, feeling buttocks clench and quiver above his own arousal, the rocking motion sending shivers of pleasure through his groin as he feasted, sucking Harry’s life’s blood from him - continued to pull as he listened to the throaty ‘Yes’ repeated again and again.’

Harry whined, a sound of need, a whimper of frustration as he crossed his ankles behind the chair, the tightening of his legs lifting his hips just so, to just the right position so that when his release came, it was swift and strong. His breath stuttered from his lungs as he continued to rock, the softening of his appeased cock doing nothing to lessen the enjoyment he was still feeling at being held so closely, so tightly.

He wrenched back, pulling Snape’s teeth out of his neck. He paid no attention to the sudden, tearing pain at his throat, ignored Snape’s eyes opening suddenly and with a burst of passion pressed his lips hard against Snape’s open mouth.

With more urgency than skill, Harry’s tongue thrust itself into Snape’s mouth, skimming his fangs and moving relentlessly. He could taste himself on Snape, could taste his own blood, and the coppery flavour of it made him groan. Snape wasn’t responding, his mouth was slack and Harry growled in frustration, pressing in deeper. His lips moved sloppily over Snape’s thin mouth, licking and sucking in quiet desperation. He felt Snape’s sudden exhalation and, at last, felt the kiss returned. Harry whimpered as Snape’s mouth moved harshly over his, long wet kisses interspersed with gentle bites.

Harry wiggled his hips, felt Snape’s hard erection under his arse, and was stunned to find himself suddenly flat on the floor, his back sore as he landed on the cold stones.

“What did you do that for?” Harry yelled, clapping a hand to his bleeding neck. Snape sat frozen in the chair, chest heaving. Swearing under his breath, Harry got up awkwardly, lifting his hand away from his throat. The palm was covered in tacky blood and he grimaced. He took his shirt off, crumpled it into a ball and pressed it against the wound. “What’s wrong?”

Snape let out a hysterical giggle. What’s wrong? The idiot boy stood fuming in front of him, a large, wet patch staining the front of his trousers, his school shirt balled and bloodied and pressed into his neck – and he asked what was wrong?

Snape pulled back his lips, felt his fangs with trembling fingers and, with a bit of effort, made them retract to their normal size. He stood up shakily. “You should go.”

“What?”

And all at once the anger and frustration and denial that Snape had been suppressing the last few months welled out of his heart, escaped their tight confines and spewed out of his harsh mouth. “Don’t you dare question me, boy. I said leave! This instant or by Merlin I’ll do something you’ll regret.”

“Don’t call me boy! My uncle calls me that and I fucking hate it. I’m not your boy,” Harry said, rage filling his voice. “What’s wrong? Why are you acting like this?”

“Are you even gay, Potter? Or was my stomach simply a convenient object against which you could rut,” Snape said, snidely.

Harry scowled. It was moments like this, when Snape was being his most infuriating, his most sadistic, that Harry wondered if he’d changed at all. “You – you…”

Snape stalked towards him, but Harry stood his ground. The shirt fell unheeded to the ground. Although the flow of blood from his neck had finally ceased, he still looked as though he’d been mauled by a wild animal above the waist. Harry stood up straighter, not understanding what was going on, but certain that, for once, it wasn’t entirely only his fault.

“I will not be a tool for your experimentation. You have crossed a line tonight, and being Dumbledore’s Golden Boy will not make any difference in this instance.”

“I crossed a line!” Harry yelled, indignantly. “Didn’t stop you from getting a stiffy!”

Snape slapped him across the face before Harry even saw the movement. A second or two passed – a brief moment in time when everything Harry thought he knew collapsed into a heap, jumbled itself up, and reconstructed itself into something completely out of his ken. He lifted a hand to his face, felt the heated flesh and wondered if there was a visible mark. It didn’t hurt; he’d been hit harder in jest by Ron, but the very knowledge of what had just been done to him, and who had done it, made his chest collapse.

“You will leave this second,” Snape rumbled, low and dangerous in Harry’s ear, “or I will not have a single thing to do with you for the rest of your life.” Snape pulled back, his eyes hard and piercing as he gave Harry the full brunt of his dismissal.

“I really hate you sometimes, you know that?” Harry said, his mouth twisting with emotion.

“As do I, Potter. As do I.”

 

 

It wasn’t until many hours had passed that Snape remembered he hadn’t healed the boy before sending him away.


	10. Chapter 10

Snape knew that he was dreaming because there was no way in Hades he would voluntarily put himself in this position again.

The Weeping Willow was motionless in the balmy night and, through its patchy limbs and leaves, the full moon was visible, low in the sky and pregnant with intent. The dream was so close to one of his most feared memories that he shuddered, hoping desperately that the scene would not play out to its inevitable conclusion.

But this was different. In his youth, he had not been on his knees. The fact that his legs were sore confirmed that he was his adult self, and he wondered how long he had been kneeling to cause the slight twinges of pain in his thigh muscles. He wondered why he was kneeling in the first place.

And then he saw him.

Potter - sleek and silent - walking towards him in the illuminated dark. Potter, loping towards him with an easy stride and a casual grin. Harry, just as he had been the nights ago – dressed formally, beautifully, as quietly confident as he had been before the debacle, before Snape had sent him away in self-loathing and despair.

The boy stopped in front of him. Snape lowered his eyes to the ground.

“Why are you fighting me?” Harry asked without malice.

“I don’t know,” Snape whispered in reply.

And that must have been the right answer, because Harry’s hand touched his face gently, causing him to look up. The boy smiled, his grin making him appear younger than his eighteen years, the weight of responsibility that always seemed to cloud his expression gone in a blessed moment of happiness. Snape closed his eyes as Harry tucked a strand of his greasy hair behind his ear and kissed him softly on the lips.

And Snape was lost. It was a dream, it wasn’t _real_ , but if it could only be this way, if this was the only chance he got, and it seemed so real…

Snape unbuckled Harry’s belt with careful hands, releasing the button and slowly pulling down the zipper of his trousers. With careful movements he tugged at the boy’s jeans and pants until they rested above his knees. With trembling fingers Snape stroked Harry’s erection, feeling the warm skin move up and down the rigid tissue. He gently placed a hand under the heavy weight of Harry’s testicles and caressed the velvety balls. He wanted to look at Harry’s face but was afraid of seeing rejection.

“I’ve wanted this for so long,” he admitted aloud and, with a patience bordering on masochism, sucked just the glans into his mouth. He paused for a moment, wanting to memorise the taste and shape. When he couldn’t bear it any longer, he pulled in more of the length, licking and sucking the cock that he’d denied himself, denied even wanting, for so long.

Harry murmured appreciatively and rested his hands on Snape’s head, guiding him closer, allowing Snape to set the speed of their encounter. Snape moaned in agreement, teasing the tip, tasting the fluid that had began to seep out, opening his throat and covering his teeth because he didn’t want to bite, not now, not here.

“Severus,” Harry whispered and that sound was worth everything.

“Snape,” he heard from behind. He whipped around.

They were not alone.

Three figures walked towards them. Harry seemed to notice that they were there but made no move to cover himself.

“Snape,” hissed one of the interlopers, and Snape fell back as James Potter leaned over him. He reminded himself it was a dream, knew that what he was seeing wasn’t real, knew that even if James Potter were still alive, he wouldn’t be a teenager, but couldn’t help shivering at the absolute hatred shining from the Marauder’s eyes.

“What are you doing with my son, Snivellus?” the bane of his youth asked angrily.

“I think he’s trying to fuck him, Prongs. Isn’t that right, Snivellus?” Black said, standing tall and strong and every bit the school Lothario he had been.

“Got a taste for little boys, Severus?” Lupin whispered from his other side. Snape swung around, still cowering at Harry’s feet. Harry smiled down at him, hand casually fondling his erection only centimetres away from Snape’s pale face.

“I don’t – “ Snape said, confused by the situation, confused by the fact that his voice sounded so weak and unsure.

“I’ve got a taste for little boys,” Lupin mocked, transforming right in front of him.

“No,” Snape said hoarsely. “Harry!” He looked up and groaned. Harry was no longer himself. He was young, younger than he’d been in Snape’s first dream, as young as he had been the day he had set foot in Hogwarts. His minuscule penis dangled limply on top of his tiny balls.

“Professor?” the child asked in confusion.

“It’s not real, it’s not real,” Snape repeated his mantra, desperately wanting to wake up. He panted, trying to ignore the unwelcome reaction of his own body at the sight of hairless crotch, tried to will away the erection throbbing between his thighs.

“I must say, I’m very disappointed with you, Severus,” Dumbledore said gravely, laying his hand on Lupin’s fur-covered shoulder. He stroked the werewolf absently as he peered at Snape over the top of his half-moon glasses.

“It’s not real,” Snape moaned, curling himself up in a ball, protecting as much of his body as he could. He lay inside a circle of his most hated enemies, his one only benefactor, his inappropriate desire.

“Why did you do that to me, sir?” Harry’s unbroken voice asked. “Why do you want to touch me like that?”

“I don’t,” Snape growled, grinding his teeth. Even with its higher pitch, the boy’s voice held an allure for Snape’s ears.

“But you do.”

And the voice was so unexpected that Snape had to look up. And saw himself standing amongst his accusers. This Snape was rigid with self-control, disgust twisting his sallow face. With unforgiving eyes and arms folded tightly across his chest, he was the embodiment of Severus Snape, Head of Slytherin, a marginally respectable but supremely moral wizard. Former Death Eater. Unfulfilled vampire.

“You want the boy,” his dream self accused, and Snape swallowed, trying to lubricate his throat enough to deny the charge, but knew that, even if he spoke, no one would believe him.

“I don’t,” he said anyway.

Dumbledore looked at him with disappointment. “And I thought you were such an accomplished liar.”

“Never knew I could hate you more,” Sirius said snidely.

“You won’t touch my son,” James demanded.

“Should just finish the job,” Remus snarled.

“Merlin, Harry – you can’t let him do this to you!” Ronald Weasley said in disgust, pushing his way into the circle.

“But I thought you liked me,” Harry whispered, lips trembling.

“I don’t!” Snape screamed, and sat up. His blankets were twisted around his body and smelled sour with fevered sweat. As he tried to slow down his breathing, he realised his stomach was sticky and covered his face in despair.

 

 

He walked the deserted corridors of Hogwarts, not paying particular attention to where he was going. It was that time of the early morning where peoples alertness was at their lowest, where exhaustion and deep sleep set in. Even Mrs Norris was absent.

Snape rubbed his dry eyes, wishing for dreamless, potions-free sleep, desperate for oblivion but so used to the situation that he knew nothing would dampen his racing mind except purposeless movement. Four days had passed since he’d last seen Harry alone. Four nights where he’d been afraid to sleep lest he dream again.

Snape had done his best to ignore the boy in Potions, refusing to look anywhere near him after he had seen the tightly buttoned shirt hiding his neck. Potter, after spending the first lesson trying to catch his eye, soon did the same. Snape was amazed that no one sensed the animosity between them, but suspected that people saw what they thought they had been seeing from the moment the professor and student had met – complete and utter hatred. Snape didn’t know if he should be pleased about that, or not.

On and on he walked, the crisp clicks of his boot heels the only sounds echoing in the empty corridors.

Even the ghosts left him alone.

He entered the Great Hall and took a seat at one of the student tables. The roof displayed a sky very similar to the one of his dream, although he was more aware of the thousands of stars that flickered in his field of view. He felt his body relax, his shoulders loosening. His breathing slowed and his senses sharpened.

“Potter,” he said quietly.

Seconds passed in which nothing happened then, with a slight flourish, Harry appeared from under his Invisibility Cloak. Snape ignored him.

Harry sat down opposite the Potions master and took his glasses off, polishing the lenses half-heartedly on his pyjama top. He put them back on and leant his chin on his hand. “How did you know I was here?”

“I could smell you.”

“I didn’t know you were here. I wasn’t following you.”

“I know,” Snape admitted.

Harry tapped his fingers nervously on the table. Snape looked at him and the tapping stopped. “I’m sorry.”

“Whatever for?”

“For doing what I did. It was…inappropriate, I guess. I shouldn’t have taken advantage of you when you were weak.”

Snape shook his head, as if to deny what he’d just heard. “Your throat. Is it…?”

“It’s fine,” Harry answered. “I healed it. Well, sort of. It was a bit red but I just…”

Moments passed in silence. “I shouldn’t have hit you,” Snape said resignedly.

“It’s all right,” Harry said, shrugging his shoulders. “I’ve been hit worse before.”

“That doesn’t excuse what I did,” Snape replied.

“No,” Harry admitted, “it doesn’t. It hurt more when you sent me away though.” Harry’s eyes were bright and piercing and Snape felt like he’d been caught in the gaze of a basilisk.

“What do you want from me?” he asked softly.

Harry started to shrug his shoulders again and stopped halfway through the movement. “I want us to talk. I need to talk to someone about this, and there’s no one else.”

“You have friends…”

“Ron, Hermione,” Harry began facetiously, “you’ll never guess what I did a few nights ago. I…” He paused, biting his lip.

“Albus,” Snape returned dryly, “you’ll be pleased to know that Potter and I have reached a new level of understanding in our endeavours. Yes, I see your point.”

Harry grinned slightly. “There’s no one else.”

“But there should be.”

Harry huffed in annoyance. “Of course there _should_ be, but there’s not.”

Snape looked at him sternly. “I’ve already told you that I will not be the object of your inquisitive nature.”

“Stop it,” Harry hissed. “If it was just that, you’d have every right to be angry, but it’s not.”

“Than what is it?” Snape sneered. “Don’t tell me you’ve confused raging hormones and the ready presence of a warm body with something else. Love, perhaps?”

“I’m not that stupid,” Harry retorted. “I know there’s a fat chance of that ever happening to me. I’m not as self-absorbed as you think. I don’t even know why _I_ did it, let alone you.”

Snape ignored the challenge and rubbed his eyes again. “In the interest of playing Devil’s advocate, if you had someone to talk to, what would you say?”

Harry looked at him warily. “I’d tell them I was confused. I’d tell them that I don’t know why I did it, or what it means.”

“Surely you’re not that naïve,” Snape said dryly.

Harry laughed morosely. “Oh, I know what I did, I just don’t fully understand why. Or maybe I do, and I just don’t want to admit it to myself. And I don’t understand why it had to be you.”

“Warm body, raging hormones,” Snape recited coolly, “False feelings of intimacy created by bloodlust.”

“Was that all it was to you?”

“Who said it was anything to me?” Snape said archly.

Harry shrugged his shoulders. “I just thought – “

“Well don’t.”

Harry tugged at his fringe peevishly. “What would you say if you could talk to someone?”

“There is no one I could discuss this with, apart from the Headmaster, and I haven’t made a decision on that yet.”

“Don’t,” Harry snapped. “It’s none of his business.”

“You are a student at this school – “

“So help me Snape, I’ll…” He clenched his jaw.

“Are you threatening me?” Snape asked, eyes narrowing.

“Don’t be an idiot,” Harry replied. “There’s nothing I could do to you without your permission.”

“You could tell people.”

For a moment Harry looked at him in bewilderment. “Tell people – about that? I can’t believe you’d think I would do that,” he said.

“And I still can’t believe that you wouldn’t, Potter. The temptation to reveal is so alluring.”

Harry sighed and leant heavily on his hands again. “Just tell me. Pretend I’m not me. Pretend I were a friend you could talk to about this. What would you say?”

“Think I’ll give up my secrets so easily, boy?” Snape sneered.

“Tell me!” Harry shouted.

Snape cursed and cast a Silencing charm.

Harry continued angrily. “Tell me what you think. Tell me what it is that’s keeping you up tonight. Tell me whatever the fuck you want, just get it off your chest. You can just obliviate me later! I can’t believe you’re so scared.”

“I am not scared,” Snape hissed.

“Then tell me,” Harry challenged.

Snape stood abruptly, pacing the floor in agitation. Should he speak? There was benefit to having such a conversation. If he could explain himself clearly, Potter might finally realise the gravity of their situation. The thought of opening up and leaving himself exposed to ridicule rubbed against his grain, but perhaps some of the tension in his chest would ease, the confusion in his mind clear. He might even be able to sleep at night.

“I would say that I don’t know what’s come over me,” he began softly, standing still. He stared into the empty fireplace. “I would hope that what I did…what I allowed to happen, was only because of the curse. I am petrified that that might not the case,” he admitted.

Snape turned and looked at Harry in the starlight. The shadows of the Great Hall clove Harry’s face into clean lines, making him appear ageless. “I would admit that I don’t know where this is going, but I feel that, wherever that may be, it is rushing towards a tragic end and that my time is running out.”

“Mine is too,” Harry said softly. “See, that wasn’t so bad, was it?”

Snape smiled grimly. “No. It was worse.”

The silence between them hung thickly under the Silencing charm.

“Can I ask you something? You don’t really think I’m so much like my dad, do you?”

After a brief hesitation, Snape shook his head.

“Then why do you treat me like this? Not here, but in the classroom.”

“Would it be enough if I said I thought you needed it?”

“No.”

Snape snorted. “I expected as much.” He gathered his thoughts. “I wanted to treat you like a normal person. I want you to understand that life is suffering. That, contrary to everything that’s ever been done or shown to you at Hogwarts, there will always be people that treat you unfairly, simply because of who you are.”

“You don’t treat anyone else like that,” Harry said sullenly.

Snape inclined his head. “No one else is you. A fact, for which, I am eternally grateful.”

Harry chuckled. “So, where does this leave us?”

Snape stiffened. “It leaves us nowhere, Mister Potter. Regardless of your opinion on the matter, I have yet to reach a decision on the next course of action. Suffice to say, I will no longer be teaching you Occlumency.”

“But that’s - ,” Harry stammered, “that’s bullshit!”

“Despite your quaint use of the English idiom, it is not for you to decide. It is unwise for us have contact outside of the classroom. I will not put you, or myself, in that situation again.”

“What situation’s that, Snape?” Harry jeered. “The situation where you were sucking on my neck, or the situation where I got off on your lap?”

“Be silent,” Snape hissed.

“I won’t,” Harry retorted, storming over angrily to Snape. “Just because you’re a coward – “

“How dare you!“

“Oh, I dare fine. I might not have as much experience in these matters as you do, but even I know that something happened between us, and if you want to ignore it, fine. But don’t try to tell me it was nothing. That I was nothing.”

“What you were and are,” Snape murmured dangerously, “is an egocentric twit that – “

Harry grabbed him by the face and kissed him. After the shock had worn off, Snape pushed him away roughly.

“I’m not egocentric, and I may be a twit in your eyes, but at least I’ve got the balls to admit that something happened. What’s wrong with you, Snape? Afraid of what the Board of Governors will think if they found out? Afraid of what Dumbledore would say?”

“You have no idea of the situation you’re placing yourself in,” Snape said between clenched teeth.

“Look at me!” Harry demanded. “Take off your Potter-hating glasses for a minute and look at me! You think I don’t know what’s going on inside your head? You think I don’t understand the ramifications? I get it, okay? I’m young, I admit that. Fucking call me a boy if that’s what makes it easier for you, degrade my intelligence and my motivations and my mere presence, but don’t you dare deny what I am. Maybe you’re too fucking blind to see it, but I’m not what you think. I’m not what you remember me to be. You want proof? Here.”

Harry grabbed Severus by the upper arms and pulled him until they stood chest to chest. “Look at me. Look me straight in the eye. Couldn’t do that when I was eleven, could you? And listen to me. My voice hasn’t broken in the last three years but you – wouldn’t – notice, would you?” he said, shaking Snape roughly. “Want more proof? Do you want to watch me shave? Want a closer look at the hair on my chest? Around my cock? I’m a _man_ now, Snape, and you don’t want to see it because then you’d have to deal with it. It’s easier to see me as a boy, isn’t it, _Professor_?”

“Fuck you,” Snape hissed.

“No,” Harry hissed in return. “Fuck you for being so deliberately blind. Fuck you for being such a coward. You’re twenty years older than me, and don’t think I haven’t thought about that. You’re supposed to be the mature one here, the one with all the answers.”

His voice lowered. “You can’t cope with what you see, and you can’t cope with what you want. And don’t you even try to deny it. Don’t even pretend you don’t know what’s going on. And it’s not the blood. I’ll never give you another stinking drop, I’ll let you roll around in pain, if you think it’s just about that.” Harry looked at him with disgust written all over his face. “You’re a coward.”

“I’m a coward?” Snape roared. “Poor little Potter’s confused? Poor little Gryffindor not satisfied with the way things have turned out? Didn’t get what you want, so now you’re going to cry about it?”

“I’ve never gotten anything I wanted.”

“And you don’t get to have _me_! You don’t get to have _this_. Not just because you want it. I have to want it too,” Snape growled. “Don’t I get a say in this? This is my life we’re talking about, after all. I’m the one who will suffer, don’t you understand? All your words, all your pathetic, meaningless words and you still can’t get it into your thick head. It will be me that’s crucified, boy. _You_ will be the victim; _I_ will be the rapist of youth. I will be the defiler of our Saviour. I will be the one who has to pay. Even in the midst of your whining, surely you can see that?”

“But I don’t understand why it happened,” Harry screamed. “I’ve never done anything like this before. I’ve never felt anything like this before. Why can’t you explain it to me?”

“Because I don’t understand it. I don’t know how this started, or why we did what we did, but it will…not…continue.”

Harry moved in to kiss him again. Snape grabbed him by the wrists and squeezed hard enough to cause bruises. “It will not continue,” he repeated.

“Why won’t you give in? I want you to give in,” Harry pleaded.

“I won’t, Harry,” Snape said, voice breaking yet still forceful. “I won’t.

Harry’s lips twisted as he struggled to maintain his composure, voice shaking with anger and frustration. “Fine. If you don’t want me, I can’t make you. If…” His voice broke, and he wrenched his wrists away from Snape’s grasp. “If you don’t want me, then I’ll leave you alone.”

Harry grabbed his cloak, flung it around his body and kicked the table hard enough to move it as he left.

Snape sat silent and still until a troupe of house-elves arrived to light the morning fires. Ignoring the curious looks flung his way, he retired to his cold quarters.


	11. Chapter 11

_Dear Remus,_

 _I’m sorry I haven’t written to you lately. It’s been very busy around here, what with studying and all._

 _Sorry. I’m not telling you the truth. Or the whole truth, anyway._

 _I’d really like to speak to you. I’ve got some things on my mind and I don’t really feel comfortable talking to anyone else. I know that you’re busy, and Dumbledore hasn’t let on where you are (not that I’ve asked him, I haven’t seen much of him lately)._

 _I just – look, you’re one of the only adults in the world that I trust. I mean really trust. You were a friend of my dad and Sirius, and I guess that I’ve always felt that I could rely on you if I needed to._

 _I’ll understand if you can’t come to see me at Hogwarts. Is it okay if I write to you? I think I need some advice, and it’s not stuff I want to talk about with Ron and Hermione._

 _Don’t rush back or put yourself in any danger. It’s got nothing to do with Voldemort. Yes, I’m sure._

 _Harry_

 

 

“Hey!” Ron said indignantly as Hedwig’s beating wings struck him on the side of the head.

“Nice shot, Hedwig,” Hermione grinned.

Harry said nothing, only putting his arm out so the owl had a steady perch to land on and carefully removed the tightly coiled scroll from her leg. “Good girl,” he said absentmindedly, giving her feathers a quick stroke. He drew his knees up to his chest and read the scroll in silence. Hermione and Ron watched as his face changed from the wary expression it had displayed for the past week, into one of satisfaction.

“Good news?” Ron asked, laying on his stomach and nudging Hermione’s knee until she passed him another cauldron cake.

“Yes,” Harry replied with a small grin. “Remus is coming to visit.”

“Professor Lupin? But that’s brilliant! Did he say when?” Hermione said.

“No,” Harry said as he stood up and brushed away the bits of grass that had attached onto his cloak. “I’m going in now. I forgot some of my books. See you at dinner?”

Ron and Hermione watched as their best friend made his way back to the castle. Hermione nibbled her lip pensively while Ron got up and threw the remains of his cake into the lake. The scattered crumbs were quickly taken by a number of fleet fish.

“Do you get the feeling he’s hiding something from us?” Hermione asked her redheaded boyfriend.

“Yes,” Ron replied shortly, laying down abruptly and putting his head on her lap. Hermione began to absent-mindedly run her fingers through his hair.

“I wish I knew what it was.”

“Hermione, something’s aren’t our business. You can’t tell your friends everything.”

“You tell me everything!”

Ron stroked the back of his hand carefully over her jaw. “That’s ‘cause I’ve got nothing to hide from you, love.”

“But Harry does?” she asked softly. At Ron’s nod, she sighed. “I wish we could help him.”

“Everyone’s got to fight their own battles, even Harry. Especially Harry.”

“You don’t think - ?”

“No, it’s not You-Know-Who. I think it’s more important than that.”

“What could be more important than You-Know-Who?”

Ron gave her a mischievous grin. “C’mere and give me a kiss.”

“Ronald Weasley! There are more important things in life, you know.”

And if Hermione didn’t realise that she’d answered her own question, Ron wasn’t going to be the one to tell her. It wasn’t often he was quicker on the uptake than his girlfriend, but on those few occasions it occurred, he was going to enjoy every last second of it.

 

 

I sit, and I ponder, and I stew.

The werewolf is here. It’s taking all of my willpower not to wrap my hands around his throat and squeeze until he is as dead as his ignoramus partner. Or run away like a scared teen.

Which I am not anymore.

Still, it is disconcerting to have him at the table again. I know, know in my heart that he is no menace to me, know in my mind that it is my potion, my skill that keeps him sane when the moon tugs at his blood and transforms him into my worst nightmare.

Well, one of my worst nightmares.

I wonder if his blood would taste different to Ha – ?

I scowl and pay lip service to the food prepared especially for me. The house-elves are a canny lot. I have a thin broth, almost tasteless, cooling gently in front of me. To my right is a plate of mild greens and milky cheese. I have no taste for flesh anymore.

Only the flesh of –

I growl and clench my hand around my spoon.

Lupin nodded politely in my direction before he sat next to Dumbledore, who moved aside to make room for him. Against my will, my eyes were drawn to the Gryffindor table. The boy smiled and waved.

Not at me. He only steals sidelong glances these days. I wonder if he knows that he is doing it, or that I’m watching.

I have limited myself to watching. I will not speak to him, I can’t. I’m filled with such rage, against myself, against him – that I know if I open my mouth, “Stir clockwise, you imbecile, clockwise!” – I will not stop and all the unspeakables, all the half-truths and full-truths will spew out of my mouth and coat him with venom. If I start to speak now, no power on Earth will be able to stop me.

I’m weary of this fight.

I look up and notice that the room is emptying. I have sat and stared at this plate, in his direction, at his face, for nearly an hour. I should credit myself that no one spoke to me during that time. I am untouchable. I am fearless. I am an island.

The boy is walking towards me, his friends trailing in his wake. Will he speak to me? Does he come this way to apologise, or to demand an apology? I am so weak at this point; I think I would give him anything he asked for.

He has passed me by without a glance. I am beyond his disdain now.

I take a sip of cold soup and work to suppress the bile that rises in my throat. The soup is thin, watery, cold. It is nothing like him, like his blood.

I want his blood. I’m weak, but not undernourished. I think I could go days, weeks, months before needing it again. There are other avenues…

But I need his blood. I want the taste of him in my mouth. I want him warm and thick and pulsing over my tongue.

The friends are gone, and he talks with the Headmaster and the werewolf. I cannot hear what they are saying, but I will not leave. I bring another spoonful to my mouth. It slides unpleasantly down my throat. This is my penance then. I will force-feed myself until he has left the room. I can’t be the one to walk away first. My days are numbered and I will not throw away this opportunity, any opportunity to be in the same room as he.

I bite my tongue and taste the reassuring flavour of my own blood trickling down my throat. I’m turning into a monster.

The real monster stands and takes his leave of Dumbledore, his hand lying casually on Potter’s shoulder. The sight disturbs me.

He is leading him out – the hand on his shoulder is directing him out of the room. Directing him away from me. They speak softly and I strain my ears as I stare at my soup. If I cheat, I could hear every word spoken. If I use my gift, I will know their every secret.

I don’t. They pass me by without a word, without a look in my direction. I turn to Albus and wonder about the look he gives me.

 

 

“Fancy a Butterbeer?” Remus asked as they entered his guest quarters.

“Thanks,” Harry said. Remus went into the kitchen and returned with two bottles, giving one to Harry and gesturing for him to sit. He took his wand from his sleeve and placed it on the occasional table.

Harry stared at the floor blankly, taking small sips from his bottle. The silence between them grew.

“Harry,” Remus began mildly. “What’s wrong?”

Harry froze, the bottle near his mouth. He placed it on the floor, moving as carefully as an old man.

“I – “

Deafening silence again.

“Is it about Snape?” Remus asked.

Harry’s eyes hardened. “Why would you say that?”

Remus played with the lip of his bottle. “You said in your letter it had nothing to do with Voldemort, and I believe you. Obviously, something’s gotten you upset, and it’s something you can’t tell Ron and Hermione about. You were acting like nothing was wrong in front of the Headmaster,” he shrugged his shoulders, “so I put two and two together. I know you’ve been working with him rather closely lately.”

“What did you say to Dumbledore about coming here?” Harry asked, his hand jerking slightly as he picked the bottle up and started to peel the label off.

“Just that I needed a break since I was between missions, and I hadn’t seen my favourite godson in a while.”

“Good. That’s good,” Harry muttered, his eyes downcast.

“Harry,” Remus said, moving to sit next to him. He took Harry’s bottle and placed it out of reach, squeezing Harry’s hands. “What’s going on? Why are you like this?”

A bark of terrified laughter leapt out of Harry’s mouth. “I don’t know,” he said, pulling away from Remus and crossing his arms over his chest. “I don’t understand why I’m like this. Don’t I have enough to worry about?”

Remus grabbed him by the shoulders. “What’s he done to you, Harry? What could possibly be so bad that you’re acting like this?”

“Like what,” Harry replied, his mouth twisting.

“Like you’re afraid,” Remus said. “What are you scared of, Harry?”

Harry stared at him for so long, Remus thought he’d forgotten the question.

“Of this,” Harry finally whispered and leant over. He kissed Remus softly on the lips.

Remus started. Harry pulled back and looked at him thoughtfully. He placed a palm on the back of Remus’ head and pulled him closer, kissing him again.

Harry’s mouth was soft on his, probing. Remus felt like a block of ice, rigid and unfeeling except for the sliver of warmth of Harry’s lips on his, Harry’s hand on his neck.

Harry’s mouth widened and Remus felt the hesitant touch of tongue swipe against his lips.

“Stop!” Remus rasped, pulling away. “What are you doing? Stop. I can’t – “

“Please,” Harry asked, biting his lip. “I need to know. I want to know.”

Remus’ chuckle was merciless as he stood up, quickly moving away and running his hands through his hair. “You don’t understand – “

“But I do!” Harry replied, moulding his body against Remus’. He pressed them together, reaching up to kiss him again. Remus groaned as Harry’s tongue entered his mouth, flat and moist. He let himself be carried away by the sensations, it had been too long since he’d had a firm body pressed against his, too long since he’d had an enthusiastic partner rub up against his leg. Too long. Since Sirius –

“Don’t!” he yelled, pushing Harry away.

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t love you like that,” Remus said. “Oh god, I can’t love you like that.”

“Why not? Why doesn’t anyone want me?” Harry screamed. “What is so fucking wrong with me that no one wants me?”

“What did he do to you?” Remus said, his eyes lighting up angrily. He grabbed Harry by the forearms and shook him. “What did Snape do to you?”

Harry looked at him with rage. “He did nothing,” he spat.

“I don’t believe you.”

“HE DID NOTHING TO ME! I wanted him to but he didn’t. All right? NOTHING!”

“Then why are you like this? What’s gotten into you?” Remus asked, his voice shaking in fury.

Harry snaked out of Remus’ grasp. “Nothing’s gotten in to me. I’m just a freak.”

“You’re not a freak,” Remus said angrily. Harry swore.

Remus grabbed Harry’s chin and wrenched it hard, forcing Harry to look at him. “You’re not a freak,” he said more calmly. “There’s absolutely nothing wrong with you, and I won’t hear otherwise. Now tell me – what’s wrong? Why are you doing this?”

Harry tried to pull away. Remus tightened his grip, his fingers sinking into the flesh of Harry’s face, causing the skin to appear white and pinched.

“Why?”

Harry wouldn’t look him in the eye. Remus waited patiently.

Harry’s voice was uncertain. “Please, I’m sorry. Just – “

“Why?”

“I didn’t mean to. I wasn’t even sure – “

“Why?”

“Stop asking me,” Harry begged, finally lifting his eyes to Remus’.

“Tell me why, Harry. Please,” Remus asked, loosening his grip on Harry’s chin.

For a moment he thought Harry was going to cry. His eyes were glittering overbright behind their lenses, but in a blink, they were back to dull.

“I’m sorry,” Harry whispered.

“There’s nothing to be sorry about. I just want to know why, Harry. Why me?”

“Because…because I can trust you,” Harry answered, his voice breaking.

Remus folded his arms around the shaking boy and drew his head onto his chest. They both breathed unsteadily as Remus rubbed his hand gently over Harry’s back. After a few seconds, Harry carefully lifted his arms and hugged Remus back.

“Harry. Love,” Remus spoke softly into Harry’s hair. “We can’t.

“I know,” Harry said half-jokingly, his voice muffled. “My dad would’ve killed you, right?”

“Him, and Sirius too,” Remus chuckled. He tugged on Harry’s hair until the boy raised his face. His eyes were dry. “Harry, I love you, but not like that.”

“You kissed me back,” Harry mumbled.

“I know I did, but I shouldn’t have. You surprised me.”

“Was that all it was?”

Remus rubbed his thumb gently over Harry’s scar then kissed it. “You are a beautiful young man, and no one in his right mind would turn you down.”

“You did.”

“But not for the reasons you think. It’s not the age difference, or the fact that I knew your parents, or the fact that the first time I saw you, you were red-faced and screaming in your cot.”

Harry looked slightly embarrassed and Remus smiled wryly. “It’s because of the way I feel, not about you, about Sirius. I – “

“You and he – ?”

Eyes watering, Remus nodded.

“I’m sorry,” Harry said softly, coiling his arms around Remus. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know. I never would have – “

“I know,” Remus said, kissing the top of his head. “And I’m sorry we never told you, it’s just that we weren’t sure how you’d take it.”

“I think I would have taken it okay,” Harry sobbed. “Oh my god, Remus! All this time, and I never knew what he meant to you. What you meant to each other. I can’t believe I didn’t see it!”

Remus shushed him. “It’s all right. We were very careful. It’d been such a long time since we’d seen each other, and we weren’t sure…” his voice broke.

“I’m sorry,” Harry said, looking ashamed. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“You didn’t,” Remus smiled tiredly. “I suppose I should have told you, but I never expected that you’d be…”

“Like this?”

“Like me.”

Harry looked away. “Me neither.”

Remus gave him one last kiss on the forehead and stepped out of their embrace. “Do you still trust me?”

Harry looked his feet. “Yeah. And look, I really am sorry. I don’t even think of you like that, really, I just…wasn’t sure what was going on.”

“And now you know?”

Harry shrugged. “I’ve always known, I just didn’t want to admit it.” He looked up. “Are you sure you don’t hate me?”

“Idiot,” Remus teased. “As if I could ever hate you. Would you like another butterbeer? Sit down and talk a bit more?”

“No thanks,” Harry said, shaking his head. “It’s getting late and I’d better get back to the tower. Er – is it okay if I still write to you?”

Remus growled. “Of course it is. If you don’t, I’ll be back here before you know it, causing a scene in the Great Hall. Want me to walk you back?”

“No, I’ll make my own way. I might stop in at the library for a while. Well, I’ll see you.” Harry walked slowly towards Remus, seemingly unsure about what to do next.

Remus solved the problem by enveloping him in the boy arms. “I love you, Harry,” he whispered into his hair. “Don’t ever forget that.”

“I won’t,” Harry said, his arms tightening for split second. He raised his head and kissed Remus on the cheek. “Good night.”

“Good night, Harry,” Remus said and sank back onto the lounge. He picked up a butterbeer for the floor and took a swig distractedly. “

“Sirius,” he said aloud. “What the fuck am I going to do now?”


	12. Chapter 12

“What’s he doing here?”

“Hmm?” Hermione hummed as she scribbled on her parchment, her attention wavering between two books and some old study notes.

“Harry. I thought he was spending time with Professor Lupin.”

Hermione looked up and Ron gestured over her shoulder, putting down the Quidditch journal he’d been surreptitiously reading.

Harry was standing near the library doorway. He scanned the tables, his eyes not picking up on his friends seated towards the back of the room. He froze as he heard Ginny Weasley’s laugh.

“He was,” Hermione said. “Maybe something’s wrong. We’d better – “

“Wait,” Ron said, touching her arm. He slid over on the bench to get a better view. Hermione’s quill dropped from her hand.

Ginny was sitting with her friends, Dean Thomas standing at her side, leaning over her casually and listening to the conversation. Ron watched as Harry made his way over to his sister. Ignoring everyone else, he whispered in her ear.

Ginny looked up, bemused. She stood and allowed him to take her by the elbow, drawing her over to the shelves. Dean followed them with his eyes then took Ginny’s seat, turning his back on them as he talked to her friends.

Harry spoke quietly, earnestly. Ginny’s eyes widened and she shook her head. Harry spoke again, his hands gesturing widely. She looked at him sharply.

“Ron?” Hermione asked, her forehead creasing.

Ron sat with pinched lips, breathing slowly. “Let’s just see.”

Harry put his hand on Ginny’s shoulder and she pulled away abruptly. “No, Harry!” she said, loudly enough for Madame Pince to look up from her desk. Harry said something again, his face twisting with emotion. Ginny shook her head again and spoke only a few words, her face as taut as her body. She stormed over to her friends, her face red. Ignoring her friend’s comments, Ginny picked up a book and opened it, focussing on the pages.

Harry blinked tiredly and left the library, rubbing his forehead.

“Maybe – “ Hermione said, starting to rise out of her seat.

“No,” Ron muttered. “Wait here. I’m going to go talk to him.”

Biting her lip nervously, Hermione watched as Ron left the room in a huff. Glancing over at Ginny, she noticed the blush had disappeared and she was speaking quietly to Dean, who rubbed his hand slowly up and down her back.

Hermione packed up her books and quill and waited for Ron to return.

 

 

“Oi!”

Harry turned around at the exclamation. His shoulders sank as he saw Ron pacing down the corridor.

“What?” he asked, slowing down his walk.

“What just happened back there? What did you say to my sister?” Ron asked angrily. When the answer was not forthcoming, he grabbed Harry by the elbow and turned him forcefully.

“What!” Harry responded, pulling away from his towering best friend. “It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

“Doesn’t look like it was nothing,” Ron sneered. “What did you do to her to make her act like that?”

“Nothing,” Harry spat. “Go ask her. It was nothing.”

“If it was nothing, why were you running away?”

“I wasn’t running away, I was going back to the dorm. Is that all right, or do I need to ask your permission?” Harry asked snidely.

“Listen mate,” Ron said, his voice lowering as he stepped closer to Harry. “I don’t know what’s got into you, but I don’t like it. Whatever you said to her, you can just go back in there and unsay it.”

“You listen, mate. I’ve already told you it was nothing. If you don’t believe me, go in there and ask your stupid sister yourself.”

“My sister’s not stupid,” Ron growled.

“Fine, whatever, just leave me alone,” Harry muttered, turning to walk away.

“Potter!”

Harry turned, narrowing his eyes in the low light of the corridor. “Yes, Weasley?”

Ron’s face hardened. “I don’t know what your problem is, but you don’t get to take it out on my family. Understood?”

The air charged with silent hostility. Harry nodded curtly. “Understood.”

“Good,” Ron said and turned away.

Harry watched as the light of the library swallowed up Ron’s figure. He fell back against the cool stones of the wall. A group of third years walked past him, their heads together as they whispered and looked his way.

Swallowing thickly, Harry made his way down to the dungeons.

 

 

He’d fought the feelings for so long he no longer truly remembered why he’d been resisting. His mind was filled with memories of them, secure in the room together, both of them bloody, sweaty and panting. He’d tried so hard for so long, with as many people as he could, but finally had no lines of resistance left. He’d thought it through logically. He’d tried reasoning away all the problems that this situation would bring them. He tried emotional blackmail on himself – what his friends would say, how Dumbledore would react if he ever found out, what his parents would have thought of his choice. What Sirius would have said.

But none of that mattered anymore. He was sick of living in the past and tired of trying to keep things together for the future. All he had was the present, and all he wanted was those lips on him again. He wanted to feel the long, lean strength of the man pressed against his body. He wanted to moan and writhe and feel, and no one could make Harry feel like that except him.

Except Severus.

Blocking out his conscious mind, he knocked briefly on Snape’s personal doors and, after trying the handle and finding it unlocked, pushed through without waiting for response.

Snape sat slumped in a chair, an empty glass in his hand. At the sound of the door opening he’d looked away from the fire. He frowned as Harry slammed the door behind him, cast a quick locking spell and hurried towards him.

Harry grabbed the glass from his hand, dropped it to the floor and launched himself into the Potions Master’s lap, grabbing his head and kissing him hard. Snape’s hands clutched tightly onto his shoulders and he forced Harry back, a stunned look on his face as he asked incredulously “What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing?”

“I want you,” Harry said breathlessly, using all his strength to push the man’s hands back down to his chest and sucking urgently on his neck. His hips began to move as his tongue tasted Snape’s neck and ear.

“Potter. Harry!”

“I want you,” Harry moaned. His fingers splayed tightly in Snape’s hair as he forced the man to look him in the face. Snape was white and thin lipped.

“I don’t want to fight anymore. I can’t do it, I’ve tried but I want you. I want you so much,” Harry moaned again, diving in for another kiss. He pressed ruthlessly on Snape’s mouth, the kiss frantic and hysterical, as if he’d finally lost all reason.

Snape refused to participate and Harry made a noise of frustration. He wound his arms tightly around Snape’s shoulders and tilted his head, giving himself better access to those unresponsive lips. It was like kissing marble, the man refused to move or give any indication he enjoyed what was happening.

But he hadn’t pushed him away, and that gave Harry the confidence to keep trying. His hands moved from the stiff shoulders and trailed down the narrow chest, undoing button after button as they moved lower down his body. He swiped his tongue over Snape’s lips, trying to find an opening. He growled in frustration and ran his hands down Snape’s naked chest and dug his fingers into his sides, pulling him forward so he could feel Harry’s erection thrusting rhythmically.

“Oh please,” Harry moaned, dropping wet kisses across Snape’s forehead and closed eyes, down his sharp cheeks, biting into the soft skin of his neck, sucking at the base of his throat. “Please, please, please,” he begged. He wanted this so much, _needed_ it so much and if Snape didn’t give in to him, he would surely fall apart at the seams.

And then a cold, strong hand clutched the back of his head and pulled on his hair until he was looking at stern black eyes. Harry knew he looked desperate; his eyes were wide open as if he’d seen a ghost, his breathing was heavy and uneven, he licked his lips constantly as if he needed to eat, to taste, to feast.

“Please!” he begged again, almost at the end of his tether. “I’ll cut myself, I’ll bleed for you, if that’s what you want! Anything. Anything, please!”

Whether it was the emotions on his face, or the tone of his voice, or the words he’d used, Snape appeared to make a decision because a second later, those thin lips opened and pressed hard against his own, sucking the air out of his lungs and pushing into him so hard Harry felt the corner of his top lip split. Snape shuddered and licked the blood that spurted from the tear. Snape licked his teeth and sucked his tongue, all the while pressing hard on Harry’s head, fingers clenched in his hair so Harry couldn’t have moved away if he’d wanted to.

Harry thrust himself against Snape’s bare stomach and twisted his hips. He wished he was naked, wished they were both naked. He wanted to feel Snape’s cool flesh against his, wanted to feel his naked cock against his, wanted to see it, wanted to feel how hard it was, wanted to see how big it was. He didn’t know if he wanted it in his mouth or his arse, and wished there was a spell that would let him have both at the same time.

Snape abruptly released Harry’s head and leaned back slightly. “Is that what you wanted?” he asked, breathing heavily.

Harry leant in and licked his glistening chest, tasting the sweat. He tongued the nipples roughly, stroking and pinching Snape’s sides. “I want more,” he demanded. He wanted action and motion and more, always more.

“Harry,” Snape said weakly as Harry moved off his lap, kneeling on the floor in front of him and trailing his mouth down Snape’s body, down his sternum, over the soft skin of his stomach, nuzzling his hip.

Harry looked up in frustration and tugged angrily at Snape’s belt. “I want more,” he repeated, eyes hard with determination. He needed this so much and didn’t understand why they kept stopping for no reason.

Harry watched Snape’s eyes. He’d become an expert over the months at judging the man’s moods, had seen those eyes shift from disdain to anger, to amusement and regret. Harry saw all those emotions plus others he couldn’t identify, they flickered by so quickly. He sat as patiently as he could, but squirmed and bit his lip in frustration. He tasted blood on his upper lip and swiped at it with his tongue, then sucked the corner into his mouth, tasting his own warm, metallic blood.

Snape’s swallowed and a look of almost-despair crossed his eyes.

“I’m sick of fighting this. Why won’t you let me?” Harry whined at his feet.

Snape’s eyes hardened. “Strip,” he commanded.

Harry froze, unable to believe that Snape had finally given in, but quickly rose and began removing his clothing before the professor changed his mind. He pushed his sneakers off his feet without undoing the laces and threw his cloak to the floor. He awkwardly removed his T-shirt with one hand while the other fumbled at his crotch, undoing the belt, popping the button out of its hole and unzipping. He laced his fingers into his jeans and underpants and pushed both down to his ankles, trying to stay upright as his feet got tangled. He finally kicked them aside and stood naked in front of Snape, hands clenched into fists, his dick full and leaving smears of fluid against his stomach.

Snape removed his open shirt and dropped it to the floor. He undid his trousers, pushed them off his body and sat back, sprawled naked in his chair.

Harry took the opportunity to stare. Snape’s legs were long and relaxed and Harry could see the dark, heavy sack of his testicles resting on the seat. His cock was long and thick, a delicate pink in colour apart from the head, which was purpling with need.

Snape took one of his hands; his long fingered, clever, yellow-tipped hands and grabbed the base of his cock, pulling up in one long, even stroke, rubbing his thumb over the glossy head. With his other hand, he shifted his balls until they were more comfortably placed, nestled under his hard column. He put his hands on the arms of the chair and settled more comfortably in his seat, his eyes expressionless.

The invitation was implied and Harry leapt at it. Within seconds he was on his knees before Snape had a chance to change his mind. He worried his bottom lip, hands open and moving over the man’s crotch without touching. He knew how to do this, knew it was a part of him deep down. Focussing on the taunt skin in front of him, he wrapped his fingers around Snape’s cock. The skin was silky smooth and he could feel the steady throb of blood pulsating through the veins. He tugged up experimentally and pushed his other hand under Snape’s balls, rolling them gently and feeling the crinkly hair, the flexible skin, the collection of blood and come that was separated from him by only a thin layer of skin.

Harry opened his mouth eagerly, stuffing the head of Snape’s cock into it as if it were a piece of chocolate. He sucked hard, wanting to taste him, wanting to have the thick, bitter juices fill his mouth and spill from his lips. His hand moved steadily, pumping Snape’s cock as he tried to shove more of it into his mouth. Snape let out a hiss of pain as Harry accidentally snagged him with a sharp tooth, and Harry appeased him by licking the area steadily.

He pursed his lips and laid quick, sucking kisses along its length, a keening noise in his throat as he experienced total and utter contentment. No more trying to fight it, no more trying to hide it. This was what he’d been fighting against and it felt so good to finally give in to his dirty little needs. All he’d been craving for the past months, all he’d dreamt about and tried to deny, it was finally here, engorged and filling his mouth. Snape’s cock. It tasted like nectar.

He moved back up to the crown, his hand beginning to tug Snape’s cock faster as Harry’s hips thrust fruitlessly into empty air. One of Snape’s hands came down to his forehead and he was rewarded by the feeling of fingers carding through his sweaty hair.

 

 

“My God but you’re good at this,” Snape said, his voice low and seductive. Harry moaned around the heavy prick in his mouth and looked up in excitement. Snape sensed his eagerness and his delight at what was being said.

“You have a mouth made for sucking cock, Potter,” he continued, encouraging the mouth to move wetly. Harry’s eyes closed and he sucked quicker, harder, his tongue swirling rapidly as he tried to take more in. Snape gasped as he released a tiny spurt of precome and Harry keened loudly, relishing the flavour.

Snape thrust his hips. “Those beautiful red lips of yours. I’ve been watching you for days Harry; weeks, months, and all I could think about was getting you on your knees in front of me. Do you like the taste of me, Harry? Do you like it when I fuck your pretty little mouth? I could fuck your mouth for hours, let you lick me and play with my balls, let you pull on my cock until I come down your throat. Would you like me to do that, Harry?”

Harry sobbed and one of his hands moved down to stroke his own needy cock.

“Do you want to suck me dry, have me flood your virgin mouth until it overflows, have me come so hard and so long in your mouth you can’t hold it all in?” Snape continued in a deep voice. “If I could, I’d have you suck me every day Potter, every hour of every day. You’re so good at it - no one would ever believe me. No one else in the world knows what I know, do they Harry? No one else in the world knows that Harry Potter loves to suck cock. He can’t get enough of it. He’s a dirty little cocksucker and he’s so desperate for it, he’s gagging so hard for it that he’ll even suck his greasy Potions Master off. Because you need it, don’t you Harry? You need it.”

Harry panted around Snape’s juicy cock, feeling his own impending orgasm tighten in his balls. They were both so close, he could taste it.

“Stop,” Snape said, pushing Harry’s head off his lap, getting up with a hard glint in his eye. Harry sat back heavily. He reluctantly stopped tugging himself and his chest heaved with exertion. Snape walked towards his bedroom.

“Come with me,” he ordered, and Harry followed him eagerly - so needy, so desperate, so incoherent with lust and want that he would have done anything Snape asked of him.

Snape lay flat on his back on the bed. “On your hands and knees,” he commanded to Harry, who eagerly complied.

“Not like that,” Snape admonished and, tugging at the boy’s body, manoeuvred him until their bodies were aligned, mouth to crotch, Harry’s downy sack above his face. Snape grabbed Harry’s thighs and wrenched them apart. He stroked the soft skin with his thumbs. Harry’s arms began to shake as he propped himself up over Snape.

“Good little boys don’t suck cock,” Snape said, licking slowly up Harry’s balls. Harry moaned and lowered his mouth. Snape shivered as he savoured the boy’s reactions to his words.

“Golden Gryffindors aren’t filthy faggots,” Snape continued, flicking the tip of his tongue rapidly over the head of Harry’s cock, his tight hands keeping Harry’s thighs open and steady. Harry whimpered and sucked harder, saliva dripping down his chin.

“Saviours of the world wouldn’t let anyone lick their arse,” he whispered and pulled on Harry’s hips sharply. Harry let out an exclamation of surprise as Snape’s tongue moved up and down his cleft.

“Oh fuck,” Harry moaned, hips moving restlessly. His hands convulsed on Snape’s cock and who hissed his surprise against the boy’s tight hole. “Don’t stop,” Harry begged.

Snape’s tongue flicked hard and wet, tasting and teasing. “If you want this, suck my cock, Harry,” he said and let out a bark of surprise at the sudden suction. Harry’s mouth was demonic as he sucked and stroked. Harry’s hips began to thrust and Snape pulled him down further until he smothered his face. Fingers digging into Harry’s hips, Snape licked wetly at the hot cleft.

Biting lightly, leaving white indentations on Harry’s skin, Snape asked “You like this, don’t you, Harry? You like having my tongue up your arse. You really are a filthy fucker, aren’t you? You’d do anything to have my tongue in your hole.”

Snape felt the head of his cock pushing against the back of Harry’s throat and knew neither of them would last much longer. He gave one final, hard swirl and removed his tongue from Harry’s arse, pulling at Harry’s hips until the leaking cockhead was above his lips. He let the wet tip run over his closed lips, tongue dipping out to taste. Without warning, Snape covered the head with his mouth, stuck a finger in Harry’s twitching hole and sucked hard.

Harry came suddenly in thick spurts, his body convulsing as he emptied himself into Snape’s mouth. Harry’s hands twisted and his throat opened, Snape fucking the hot young mouth ruthlessly as he came in jerks. His come flooded Harry’s mouth and spilled out through the lax lips but the boy licked at Snape’s softening cock and wet patch of pubic hair until it was all gone.

Snape exhaled heavily, his head falling back, his chest hurting as he attempted to suck air into his lungs. Harry fell clumsily to one side; his eyes closed as his tongue moved blindly over his lips, seeking out every last drop of Snape’s warm come.

After a minute or two, Snape’s vision began to clear and he slowly sat up. Harry still lay on his side, eyes half-closed in apparent bliss, his knees pulled up to his chest. He gave a tired smile.

Snape pushed down any soft feelings he had – it was not the right time to delve into those and he would not show the boy weakness. He hardened his eyes and took a deep breath.

“Happy now, Potter?” he smirked and got off the bed, ignoring the look of confusion in the boy’s eyes.

“You’ve got what you wanted, now fuck off,” he added harshly, ignoring the tightening in his throat as he entered the bathroom and locked the door. He leaned heavily against the door and listened carefully. After a few minutes, he heard the dungeon door slam. He sank to the floor and rested his head on his knees.


	13. Chapter 13

Harry stumbled into the Gryffindor common room, cheeks ruddy from the cold. He pulled his gloves off as he made his way to the fire, keeping his head down as he did his best to avoid catching the eye of the others in the room.

 

 

Hermione looked at him sadly – she hadn’t had much of an opportunity to talk to him since he and Ron had had words. Neither of them would tell her what their tiff was about and both had told her, in their own way, to mind her own business. And Ginny was as close-mouthed as an oyster.

“Ron,” she said, nudging her boyfriend who looked up from the game of chess he and Seamus were playing.

“What,” he replied, looking up. Ron glanced at Harry’s slumped figure then looked down at the board.

“And?” he added sullenly.

“We should go speak to him.”

“No, you should go speak to him. I’ve got nothing to say. Check,” he said as he moved his bishop. Seamus groaned.

“Fine,” Hermione huffed. She made her way through the crowded room. It was nearly Christmas and the air was rife with excitement as students prepared to go home for the holidays. A group of first-years whispered excitedly in the corner, swapping gifts and lollies. Ginny and Dean strolled past, eyes only on each other as they slipped through the portrait hole.

“Hello Harry,” Hermione said, sitting on the floor near Harry’s feet, making sure she wasn’t too close to the spitting firewood.

“Hi,” Harry said softly, looking into the flames.

Hermione frowned. She was used to Harry being distant – several times in their long, tumultuous friendship, she’d seen him withdraw into himself, becoming quieter and more complacent – but he’d been this way for weeks now and he wasn’t coming out of it. And unfortunately, this time she couldn’t rely on Ron’s help.

“Ready for Christmas?” she asked, putting on a wide, fake grin. “I am, although it’ll be hard leaving you here. I wish you could come with us.”

Harry’s eyes flickered to where Ron was sitting. “Haven’t been invited. Couldn’t go anyway.”

Hermione placed her hand on his and, noting how chilled it was, rubbed it slowly. “I wish Dumbledore would let you. And you know Mrs Weasley would have you in a heartbeat.”

“Wouldn’t want to make anyone feel uncomfortable,” Harry said with a wry grin. “I’ve already got two Weasley’s avoiding me, I don’t want to piss off any of the others as well.”

She squeezed his fingers. “I wish you’d tell me what’s going on.”

Harry finally looked at her, and Hermione was stunned at how pale he was, how lifeless his eyes were. There were black smudges under them, the lids red and dry. Hermione noticed his clothes, loose as ever, but untidily thrown on. He looked dreadful.

“There’s nothing to tell,” he said, squeezing her hand back in turn. “Don’t worry Hermione. It’ll all work out in the end. He can’t stay mad at me forever. I’ll fix this.”

She looked over to Ron who did his best to ignore them. “He’s your best friend.”

Harry gave her a tired grin. “I’ve got two best friends. And now, I’m off to bed. Have fun at the Burrows.” He leaned down and kissed her on the cheek. “See you when you get back.”

Harry walked up the stairs to the Boys dorm room, ignoring Neville who had yelled out to him. Ron watched Harry’s retreating back, then looked over at Hermione who bit her lip and turned away.

She stared into the fire until her eyes watered. Ron sat down behind her and pulled her back until she rested against his chest.

“Why won’t you forgive him, Ron?” she whispered.

A moment’s silence, then, “I will, but he doesn’t need me to forgive him right now. He’s got other things on his mind. When he needs me, I’ll be there.”

Hermione leaned back heavily into his embrace as he kissed her temple. They ignored to the happy sounds behind them, each consumed by their own thoughts.

 

 

Dumbledore stared at the parchment in his hand, a worried look on his face. A loud knock disturbed his ruminations. He placed the parchment into a drawer and called out, “Come in.”

The door swung open and Snape walked in, slower than usual. He nodded towards Dumbledore. “Headmaster.”

Dumbledore frowned. “Severus? What’s the matter? Is something wrong?” His hand moved toward the ever-present teapot.

Snape shook his head. “No. No tea, Albus. No tea, no alcohol, no sweets. I want nothing from you tonight except for you to listen.”

Dumbledore folded his hands in his lap and observed the man sitting in front of him. Snape looked tired, but that was to be expected. The man had been burning the candle at both ends for years. His hair was still stringy, his robes still pristine, but the spark, the glint that usually filled his dark eyes, was absent.

“Is it about the curse?” Dumbledore enquired.

Snape hissed and tightened his fists. “No. Now if you please – “

“I’m afraid I don’t have the time right now.”

That caused a reaction. Snape looked up quickly, a scowl appearing on his face. “Albus – “

“Lupin has been captured.”

A moment passed while Snape digested the information, then his shoulders slumped. “When?”

Dumbledore opened the drawer, removed the parchment and passed it over to Snape, who gave it a cursory look.

“I’ve received word from his contact – he didn’t appear for their scheduled rendezvous three days ago, and it’s not like Remus to miss a meeting. I’ve made enquires, but – ”

“Where?” Snape’s voice was as brittle as glass.

“Romania. I’d asked to him to make first contact with some interested parties. They say they are most distressed that he never arrived, and I believe them. There are only two options – he is either dead or has been captured by Death-Eaters. Or by this time, both.”

“It’s two weeks until the next full moon,” Snape mused, staring at his hands. “He may still be strong enough to escape. What are you going to do?”

Dumbledore sighed and scratched his head. “There’s nothing I _can_ do. If we had better leads…but it’s fruitless. By now he could be anywhere, and I don’t have the personnel to spare to look for him. I’m afraid that, unless he manages to escape on his own, he is lost to us. Severus?”

Snape looked up.

“Harry will have to be informed.”

Snape nodded slowly. “Yes, Potter will have to be told.” He cleared his throat. “You know that this will crush him?”

Dumbledore smiled sadly. “What else am I to do?”

Snape stared at the parchment, crooked teeth in view as he bit the skin on the side of his thumb. Dumbledore leaned over and picked up the teapot, pouring out two steaming cups.

Snape stood up. “I’ll get him.”

“Remus?” Dumbledore said in astonishment.

Snape’s lips twisted. “Potter. You should tell him now, before anything else happens.”

Dumbledore stirred his tea, the clink of his spoon loud in the silence of the office. “Very well, Severus. If you would be so kind as to get him, I’ll inform him immediately. And Severus?”

Snape half-turned, his face in sharp profile.

“What did you wish to speak to me about?”

He smiled sardonically. “Nothing that matters now. I’ll send the boy up.” He left the room rapidly, his robes snapping behind him.

Dumbledore sipped his tea, his forehead creasing as he tried to work out the best way to tell Harry Potter that he had, in all probability, lost another person he loved.

 

 

Harry lay on his back in bed, listening to the sounds of his roommates packing. As usual, he would be the only Gryffindor boy of his year remaining at Hogwarts during the Christmas break. He thought of the fun he’d had in the past when Ron had stayed with him; the late night trips to the kitchens, the all-night Exploding Snap tournaments, the thrill of having someone to share Christmas morning with. But that was in the past – not only was his best friend not staying with him, he hadn’t really spoken to Harry in weeks, ever since their confrontation in the hallway. After a week of feeling completely ashamed, Harry had made his peace with Ginny, which resulted in Dean no longer sending him filthy looks. But Ron still wouldn’t look him in the eye.

Harry rolled onto his side, placed his glasses on the bedside table and closed his eyes. Without meaning to, his mind replayed that night. The night when he’d gone down to the dungeons and thrown himself at Snape’s feet. The night when he’d known completely abandonment. The night when he’d been cast aside like a worthless toy. He clenched his teeth. He would not think about it again. Thinking about it only caused his chest to tighten and his throat to swell. He thanked God again that he’d had little to do with the man since, and that the holidays were Potions-free - although he didn’t know how he was going to be, sitting down with at the same table for meals with Snape. Not that the man had been eating much lately. Harry had been keeping an eye on him and thought he looked paler than usual. He wondered how Snape was coping without feeding on his blood.

A low growl interrupted his thoughts. “Where is he?”

He heard Neville stammer. “In…in there.”

The curtains surrounding his bed were ripped open, and Snape in all his snarling glory stood at his feet. “Get up. The Headmaster wishes to see you.”

Harry got to his feet, fumbling as he put his glasses on. His roommates looked uncomfortable – no one had ever seen the Head of Slytherin in Gryffindor territory before. Snape strode out of the room.

“Merry Christmas, Harry,” Neville called out bravely. Harry paused and turned, his gaze sweeping over the frozen boys but resting on Ron, who just looked back at him. “Merry Christmas.” He followed in Snape’s wake.

 

 

The trip to the Headmaster’s office was brief – Snape seemed to know every shortcut through the castle. There was no conversation; both were caught up in their own thoughts as they walked. As they approached the statue guarding the Headmaster’s office, Snape stopped at a doorway. “Potter.”

Harry froze and turned slowly. Snape opened the door to an unused classroom. “Harry,” he said, gesturing inside. “A moment please.”

Breathing shallowly, Harry walked into the room to be followed by Snape, who closed the door behind them. A wall of windows let in starlight and the room was rife with shadows cast by desks and chairs.

They stood a metre apart in the dark. Harry crossed his arms over his chest to stop them shaking. He looked at the floor.

“Harry,” Snape said, voice low and unsure. Harry raised his eyes and stared at him.

“I wanted to tell you…that is, I wanted to say…”

As Snape’s voice trailed off, Harry felt his chest tighten. “What is it, Sir?”

Snape winced at the tone. “There is no call – “

“No,” Harry said, his voice harsh and dry in his throat. “You don’t get to tell me what to do, not anymore.”

Snape scowled. “If you keep silent for a moment and let me speak, you will have ample opportunity to – “

“Why should I listen to anything you say now? You haven’t said a word to me in weeks,” Harry spat back. He squared his shoulders. “Just say what you want, and let me go. Dumbledore wants to see me.”

Snape stepped back, a look of defeat flitting over his face before his usual cold mask fell. “Very well. I simply wished to say…I’m sorry.”

“Sorry? Are you fucking kidding me? Sorry? For what - for ignoring me? For doing what you did and then throwing me out – ” Oh no, he wouldn’t continue speaking, not when he could feel his throat tightening, not when his voice threatened to break at any second.

“Harry.” His name was a whisper. Snape’s face was pale in the moonlight, his eyes glinting preternaturally. “I am sorry. I’m sorry I ever let you into my rooms. I’m sorry for accepting your help with the research. I’m sorry for taking your blood.”

“And what about me? Are you - , are you sorry about me?” Harry asked, brokenly.

A thin, white hand reached out and gently stroked his cheek. “No. For that, I am not sorry.”

Harry’s eyes closed and he turned his head, rubbing his face into the cool hand that touched his skin. The long fingers curled in his hair and, almost against his will, Harry pressed his lips fervently into Snape’s palm.

“I must go.”

By the time Harry opened his eyes, the door was closed and he was alone. Snape was gone.

 

 

“Come in,” Dumbledore said tiredly. Harry entered the room and sat down nervously.

“You wanted to see me, Headmaster?”

“I’m afraid so. Harry, I have some news for you. Not good news, I’m sorry to say.”

“What is it?”

“It’s about Professor Lupin. Remus. I’m afraid he’s missing.”

Harry straightened up in his seat. “What do you mean, ‘missing’? Where’s he supposed to be?”

“I’m afraid I can’t tell you that – suffice it to say, he is not where he should be, and we haven’t been able to ascertain his location. There’s every possibility that he – “

“No!”

“Yes, my dear boy. There’s every possibility that he has been captured by Voldemort, or…”

“He can’t be,” Harry said hurriedly. “He can’t be dead. He’s the closest…”

“The closest what?”

“The closest thing to family that I have,” Harry rasped. “He can’t be, not him too.”

Dumbledore fumbled in the pockets of his robe and handed Harry a handkerchief. He let the boy cry silently.

Eventually, Harry’s tears stopped and he asked, “What are we going to do?”

Dumbledore looked at him sadly. “I’m afraid there’s nothing we can do. We have no way of knowing where he is, and – “

“But that’s not right!” Harry yelled, jumping to his feet. He leaned over the desk. “How can you say that? At least there’s a chance with him, not like Sirius. We’ve got to save him!”

“Harry, I know you are upset, and believe me, I am too. Remus Lupin has been a colleague and friend of mine for many years. If there were anything that could be done, it would be. We have no leads,” he stressed. “No direction, no idea. The world is too big to be running around aimlessly. And it’s too dangerous. We must simply hope for the best.”

“Headmaster, please,” Harry pleaded. “There’s got to be something. Anything, please, I’ll do anything you say, but we’ve got to try something.”

“My boy – “

“What about Snape? Have you asked him?”

“Harry, it would be unwise for Professor Snape – “

“I know that,” Harry sneered. “I don’t want to get him killed, I just want to know if he has any ideas, any contacts that he can talk to safely. We can’t say for sure that there’s nothing we can do until we try everything. Please.”

“You put a great deal of faith in Professor Snape.”

Harry snorted. “At least Snape will tell me if there’s no point in hoping anymore. He may have done a lot of things, but he won’t lie to me, not about this. Can we, sir? I don’t want to give up yet.”

Dumbledore looked at Harry’s face, shining with determination. The lethargy that had been apparent had been burnt away by his will, his need to find an acceptable solution. Dumbledore was without hope, but he didn’t want to break the boy’s heart.

“Very well,” he sighed. “If you’ll give me a moment?”

Dumbledore knelt at the fireplace, moving slowly as his knees popped. “I do wish these things were higher up,” he joked as he threw Floo powder into it and said clearly, “Professor Snape’s quarters.”

A few moments passed and he called out. “Severus?”

When it became apparent that there would be no answer, he got to his feet with Harry’s assistance. “Fawkes?”

The phoenix shook its head and straightened on its perch. “Fetch Professor Snape for me, will you?” The bird disappeared in a flash of light.

“Now then,” Dumbledore said, sitting down. “Shall we have some tea while we wait?”

Time passed, and as every minute ticked over, Harry became more despondent and Dumbledore became more worried.

Fawkes appeared suddenly on the desk, trilling loudly. Dumbledore frowned and cocked his head. “Really?”

The bird responded at length and Dumbledore sighed. “Thank you, Fawkes. No, that will be all.” He placed his cup precisely on its plate and said, “I’m afraid Fawkes has been unable to locate Professor Snape. Go back to your rooms, Harry, and I’ll contact you as soon as possible.”

“No way,” Harry said, jumping to his feet. “If you’re going to look for him, I’m coming with you.”

“There’s no need – “

“I’m coming with you.” Again his voice cut with the hard steel of determination.

Dumbledore thought for a moment, then nodded sharply. “Very well. We shall floo into his quarters. Follow me, Harry.”

Within seconds they stood in Snape’s rooms. As Harry had stepped out of the fireplace, the flames had died, leaving the room in completely darkness.

“Lumos totalis,” Dumbledore said softly, and the candles in the room flickered up brightly. Harry looked around. The room was exactly as it had been the last time he’d visited. Snape’s desk was still covered with thick books and scrolls. The lounge Harry had come to think of as his own still sat in front of the coffee table, now bare of bent quills and scraps of parchment.

“Severus?” Dumbledore called out, walking into the man’s bedroom. Harry was drawn to Snape’s desk, the chair pushed aside as if he’d stood up in a rush. Amongst the clutter lay a white envelope. It was addressed to Dumbledore in Snape’s precise writing.

“Sir? There’s a letter here for you.”

Dumbledore walked to the desk and picked the letter up. He opened it carefully and read its contents. His eyes closed and his arm dropped.

“What is it? What does it say?”

Without opening his eyes, Dumbledore held the letter out. Harry took it with trembling hands.

Albus,

No doubt you are perturbed by my disappearance. Yes, I know this is a stupid thing to do, but I can’t help it. Whatever he has done in the past, Lupin doesn’t deserve to die like this. I will do my best to find and return him or, failing that, find where his body is located. For all his faults, he is not indispensable, and I am no longer any use to our Cause.

I will remain as safe as I can, and endeavour to return. If I do not, know that you have been a most faithful friend and, even though I have not always shown it, hold you in the highest esteem. Although I can never fully repay you for the trust you have shown me in the past, I will try to make some small measure of recompense.

Even though I know you will take care of Potter to the best of your ability, keep in mind that he has been treated harshly in the past, and not just by me. Harry is strong and passionate. It would be an abomination for him to have no one with whom he could share that. I know how important Lupin is to him, as he is to Lupin. Take care of him.

Your friend,

Severus Snape

Harry was filled with such white, blinding rage that the parchment combusted in his hand, burning to ashes instantaneously.

“You stupid bastard,” he whispered.


	14. Chapter 14

He looks even worse than before we left.

I almost didn’t know where we were when the Headmaster led us down into the dungeons. Why would Harry be here? If anything, shouldn’t he be near Professor Lupin’s old rooms?

Dumbledore wouldn’t tell us much, only that he had no new information regarding the Professor whereabouts, and that Harry wasn’t taking it too well.

Men. No matter how old they get, they still need to state the obvious.

Ron wasn’t sure if he should come. Of course, the fight between them has been playing on his mind all week, but he acts as if it’s nothing. Men!

But I’m glad he decided to come back with me, and it didn’t even take his mum to convince him. Like he’s always said – like they’ve always said – we’re best friends, and best friends stick together.

Although I’m not sure how much help we’re going to be in this situation. Harry looks as if he hasn’t been sleeping properly, and I don’t blame him. I always knew he and Professor Lupin shared a special bond, even after he stopped teaching here. And they spent so much time together on the holidays.

I wish he’d look up. I wish he’d say something. I wish he’d throw things or yell or do anything that will make him stop looking like a lifeless husk.

I wish we could do something to help him.

 

 

“Come in or leave. Either way, close the door.”

Hermione looked briefly at Ron then stepped over the threshold, moving aside to let her hesitant boyfriend in. She shut the door and looked around. The Potions lab was different at night, much larger than it usually seemed when it was filled with students. Empty cauldrons hung on evenly spaced hooks. The cupboards gleamed softly and the noxious materials stored in the hundreds of squat jars looked peculiarly benign. A small fire burned behind Harry, who sat at Snape’s desk.

Ignoring Ron’s indecision, Hermione walked over to Harry and gave him a long hug. He allowed it, even raised his arms slightly to return it. He looked over her shoulder to Ron, who stood still near the door.

Ron swallowed thickly and made his way to the front of the room. “Hi, Harry.”

A long pause. “Ron.”

“I’m sorry to hear about Professor Lupin. I’m sure everything – “

“How did you find out?” Harry asked brusquely.

Hermione disengaged herself from his embrace and sat on the side of the desk, feeling slightly guilty about taking such a liberty with school property.

“Mr Weasley told us. I don’t think we were supposed to know…?” She looked at Ron.

“Dumbledore must have told them as soon as he found out. They’ve known Professor Lupin for a long time, and I guess he thought they had a right to know what was going on. Mum didn’t say anything, as usual. Still thinks we need to be protected,” he said in disgust.

“Mr Weasley told us what was going on, and we decided to come back straight away. We didn’t want you to go through this by yourself,” Hermione added.

“You didn’t need to,” Harry shot out, staring at Ron. “It’s not like I expected anyone to care.”

“Don’t you start!” Ron said, leaning over the desk. His face reddened with rage. “I don’t care what’s happened in the past, you’re our friend, and we wanted to be with you. Gotta problem with that?”

Harry gave a tired smile, his shoulders relaxing slightly. “No, I don’t have a problem with that.” He looked at Ron, really looked at him for the first time since he’d entered the room. “I’m sorry.”

Ron straightened up. “I’m sorry too. Friends?”

Harry nodded, his smile becoming more natural. “Friends.”

Hermione gave Harry a wet, smacking kiss on the cheek, then moved around to Ron, threw her arms around his neck, and planted an enthusiastic kiss on his lips.

“What was that for?” Ron asked, laughing as he put his arms around her waist.

“You two…you two idiots!”

“I think that means she likes us,” Ron joked to Harry.

“All right, enough teasing,” Hermione chided. “Let’s go down to the kitchens, find something nice to eat and we’ll talk.”

“No.” Harry’s answer was swift and certain. “I want to stay here.”

Ron looked around like he didn’t know where he was. “But…but why, mate? It’s the bloody Potions lab. Who in their right mind would want to spend more time here than necessary?”

“I do,” Harry ground out, turning his attention to the mass of scrolls piled up in front of him.

“What are those?” Hermione asked, putting out a curious hand.

“Nothing,” Harry said, slapping his hand on the sheet she was just about to touch. “Look, you can stay here if you want, or go back to the tower. Whatever you like, but I’m not leaving yet. I’ve got things to do.”

Hermione stepped back, confusion furrowing her brow.

“You’re doing it again.”

“Doing what?” Harry asked, not looking his best friend in the eye.

“Keeping secrets from us,” Ron replied, moving around the desk until he was towering over Harry.

Harry’s hands moved over the sheets of parchment, obsessively touching them, stroking out their creases, piling them neatly one on top of the other. He stopped when Ron’s broad hands pressed firmly on his. With agonising slowness, Harry raised his head. Ron’s normally cheerful face was grim. “You don’t need to keep everything to yourself.”

Harry’s jaw tightened and he resisted the urge to pull away. “I don’t know what I can tell you,” he said.

“Tell us what you can. You could start by telling us why you’re down here, instead of the common room. You’re the only one staying in the tower, so it can’t be for the privacy.”

“I can…think better here.”

For a second they both remained frozen, then Ron nodded. “Good enough,” he said as he straightened up. Hermione looked worriedly between the two of them, sensing an unusual undercurrent running beneath their words.

“What else do you want to know?” Harry asked as he folded his hands in his lap and lowered his head, his fringe hanging over his eyes. Hermione opened her mouth to speak, but Ron stopped her with a look.

“What do you know about Lupin?”

“He…” Harry cleared his throat. “He’s gone missing. Dumbledore told me didn’t turn up to a meeting. No one has any ideas. He’s gone to find him.”

“Who, Harry? Who’s gone to find him?” Hermione asked, unable to keep silent. Harry raised his head and she was amazed to see the anguish that shone out of his eyes.

“Snape.”

“Why would he do something like that? I mean, I know he’s on our side, but – “

Harry reached into his pocket and pulled out a dark piece of parchment. He passed it to Hermione, who handled it carefully. It was brittle to the touch.

“There was a bit of an accident,” he said softly.

“What accident?” Ron asked as he looked over Hermione’s shoulder.

“I burnt it,” Harry said with a wry grin. Ron shot him a glance and chuckled. They read in silence as Harry turned in his seat, staring into the fireplace.

“Well, I never would have expected this!” Hermione said in astonishment.

“Me neither. Didn’t know the bastard would do anything so nice,” Ron agreed.

“He can, and he has,” Harry said, getting up abruptly. “Don’t talk about him like that.”

“Mate, I was – “

“Don’t, Ron. Just…don’t,” Harry pleaded.

Ron clenched his jaw. “Fine. We won’t talk about him. Or the fact that he’s gone off to who the hell knows where to save Lupin. What I want to know is – what are we going to do about it?”

“What do you think we’re going to do? We’re going to do nothing!” Harry spat.

“We can’t just – “

“I’ve thought about it, all right? As soon as I found out about Remus, all I could think about was trying to save him. And then, when I found out about Snape – …“ His voice broke. “Where am I supposed to go? What am I supposed to do this time? I’ve got no fucking clue where to start, and Fawkes or an Invisibility Cloak isn’t going to help me, and I feel so fucking useless but it’s probably a trap and I can’t let myself be caught. I can’t face Voldemort yet because I’m not ready, and I _won’t_ die unless I kill him first – “

“Okay,” Ron soothed. “Okay, it’s all right, mate. We understand. I’m not saying we should do anything – “

“It should be me!” Harry screamed, kicking the chair over and turning his back to them. “I’m the one they want. I’m the one who should be out there risking his life, not Se-Snape. It should be me.” He wrapped his arms around his thin body and shivered, even though the flames of the fire almost licked at his nightgown.

Hermione stood behind him and coiled her arms around his waist. “I’m sorry, Harry,” she said, kissing him between the shoulder blades. His shivering increased and she tightened her hold.

“Harry?”

He looked up to see Ron smiling at him sadly. “Come on, mate. Let’s go back to the tower. We’ll get Dobby to nick us some food and we’ll talk, okay?”

Staring at the parchments littering Snape’s desk, Harry nodded tiredly and gestured for his friends to lead the way. Ron and Hermione waited in the corridor for him as he extinguished the fire with a flick of his wrist and closed the door carefully.

 

 

Part of Snape’s talent as a spy was his ability to sink into obscurity. He was able to blend into the scenery, hardly breathing, never moving, more insubstantial than a ghost. It may have been one of the reasons he was so successful at surprising students, but it was also the one thing that had kept him alive for so many years.

For nights on end he travelled stealthily. He was a figure draped in shadows. He was the insignificant patron sitting at the corner table of a busy pub. He listened around corners, spiked people’s drinks, stalked probable suspects, badgered recalcitrant contacts – in short, did what a spy did. And he was very good at it.

So good that barely a fortnight had passed before he had located Lupin’s whereabouts. Between snatching a few hours of sleep and even fewer meals, he had meandered up and down the coast of Britain, made a few unsuccessful forays into Europe, before ending up in one of those god-forsaken Slavic states that seemed to change its name every month.

Hidden in an inaccessible backwater, the Death Eaters had set up their camp. Three or four dull buildings that looked to be general quarters and one solid looking edifice that was always under guard. Whatever the Death Eaters had hidden in there, it was important.

It was also bitterly cold, and once again he congratulated himself on preparing for all eventualities before he’d left the comfort of his home.

Rugged up against the cold, breathing so slowly and shallowly his breath could barely been seen floating on the air, he crouched and waited for his moment.

For the moment – the precise time it would be most advantageous to strike.

In the hours of silently waiting in the shadows, he stoically observed his former comrades. He witnessed a group of Death Eaters beat and rape three confused Muggles, mocking them for their impure blood as they defiled their bodies. He saw the torture and maiming of a young Death Eater who had had the audacity to question his superior’s orders. He watched as the men surreptiously drank from hipflasks, telling old war stories. Eventually, the Death Eaters had grown tired of their blood sports and boasting and retired to their quarters, leaving two unlucky guards who stamped their feet and complained about the freezing temperature.

In those long hours of waiting and barely breathing, while he had watched with one cool, logical part of his brain, Snape allowed the rest of his mind to wander, as he had not done since leaving Hogwarts. His thoughts were coloured with a thin, bile-like terror of what would happen to him if he were discovered. Luckily, there had been no evidence of either Voldemort or Malfoy in the camp. Whilst they wouldn’t necessarily be able to sense him, he didn’t know if he had the willpower to remain hidden and not try to strike them dead, even if it meant that he and Lupin would die in the attempt.

He bided his time.

He thought of Harry, lightening-quick memories darting into his brain. The way the boy had stared him down at Grimmauld Place, even going so far as to point his wand at him. The stammer of his uncomfortable apology. The dawning realisation between them that, not only were they capable of having a civil conversation, they both seemed to crave it. The peace that infused the room as they researched, stopping occasionally to share ideas. The amused glint in Harry’s eyes as he would quite deliberately steal the last biscuit from the plate, even though neither of them wanted it.

The way Harry had selflessly offered his blood, then comforted Severus when he had lost control. The way Harry had kept coming back again and again; offering, cajoling, admonishing, seducing until Snape had no choice but to drink of his bounty.

The look of confusion and hurt in his eyes after Severus had used him so badly.

The slump of his shoulders as he’d walked between classes.

The way Harry had yelled at Snape for ignoring him.

The way Harry had kissed the palm of his hand in forgiveness.

Even though it was bitterly cold and he was so weary he thought he might collapse, even though he could feel his stomach collapsing upon itself from emptiness, even though there was little to no chance that he or Lupin would survive the night, Snape was happy. His memories kept him warm.

 

 

Lupin heard the rusty hinges of his cell door squeak as it was pushed open. He slowly opened his left eye - the right was so swollen he hadn’t been able to even touch it for days. The sudden appearance of light caused him to hiss in pain. He tried to sit up, struggling against the chains holding him to the floor. If he was lucky, this time he would get food, rather than another beating.

A low chuckle filled the air and, against his will, Lupin cowered.

He had not thought himself a coward, but there was only so much torture a man could take. And there had been so much of it. Days of sleep deprivation. Hours of beatings. Minutes of the Cruciatus curse. If there was one thing that Death Eaters could do well, it was torture - and they all seemed to enjoy it.

Remus wondered again why he was still alive. He knew he had been fed Veritaserum at least four times and, against his will, had relayed all the information he knew about the Order. Fortunately, Dumbledore’s strict policy of never letting the right hand know what the left hand was doing had limited the amount of new information Voldemort’s lackeys were able to get. He spoke of Harry but was unable to recall the exact whereabouts of the Dursley’s house. He told them who Harry’s closest friends were, what he did for fun, what he usually bought when he went to Hogsmeade. Luckily, most of the information was innocuous – a minor spy hidden at Hogwarts could have just as easily feed them the same information.

Remus told them the names of the Order members he knew, and was not surprised to see the information was not news to his torturers. Unfortunately, the Order of the Phoenix was not as secretive as he had hoped. He had spoken of Snape and was pleased to see how much the Death Eaters hated him. Not that he’d ever suspected Severus of being a traitor against their cause, he just thought the Potions master would be happy to know just how much he was feared and reviled by the people he had so successfully tricked.

He had given up the location of Grimmauld Place, and that had hurt him. Not only because the Order now had to find another secure location, but because it reminded him of Sirius. Lupin hoped that the house was currently empty, and that the Death Eaters would destroy it completely. He thought Sirius would have been pleased with the total annihilation of his family home.

Lupin was glad that Voldemort was so very obviously not at this location, or he would have been pumped for information and killed days ago. Even though he knew there was no chance of him surviving, he stupidly clung onto life. A life of starvation and pain was better than none at all.

“Hungry, my dark friend?” the lone Death Eater asked. His face was uncovered and Lupin recognised him as a man he’d seen on a few occasions, although he wasn’t one who had participated in his beatings. This Death Eater, who Lupin had identified as a vampire from the moment he’d opened his mouth to speak, strolled languidly around the room, sneering at Lupin’s near naked body. Lupin covered himself as best he could with the few rags that he still wore and flicked a piece of dirt off his sleeve.

“Of course not. I had my last meal about three days ago. I’m sure I couldn’t fit another thing in, but thank you for asking,” he said, grateful that his voice hadn’t wavered.

The vampire chuckled again, a mocking sound as he raked his eyes over Lupin’s mangled form. He sniffed, loudly and slowly, and licked his lips as he stared at the bloody wounds crusting around Lupin’s wrists and ankles under the manacles. “I can’t tell you how delighted I am that your stay here has been a pleasant one. I’m a bit peckish myself. And the choice of…meals… here is rather limited. I feel myself inclined towards something slightly more exotic. Something a bit…forbidden.”

Lupin smiled, though he could feel his limbs trembling. “Well, if it’s forbidden, you probably shouldn’t indulge. Wouldn’t want to get in trouble with your superiors, would you?”

The vampire moved and, in a blink of an eye, was crouched over Lupin’s prone body. “That’s the thing,” he said, moving his neck and head sinuously, tracking Lupin’s scent like an adder. “I don’t much care for my superiors. They were slightly amusing at first, I’ll give them that. I even let them put this ridiculous tattoo on my skin,” he said, holding his arm up so Lupin could see the Morsmorde. “But, like most things in your world, it was fleeting. I have been around for a very long time and I know that the rule of men rises and falls. If it’s not one power hungry megalomaniac, it’s another.”

Lupin tried to lean away from the vampire’s body. “Best not let anyone else hear you say that. You can’t be a good little Death Eater if you talk about the boss like that.”

Lupin became very aware of the vampire’s frigid skin as a hand wrapped itself around his throat and squeezed tightly. “I am no man’s servant, werewolf. What I do, I do because it pleases me. And you, my shivering, red-blooded corpse, please me immensely. So much so, that I wish to…strengthen our friendship.”

“I’m not your friend, you psychotic prick,” Lupin rasped. His vision started to blur as the oxygen to his brain rapidly depleted. Just as suddenly as it had appeared, the hand left his throat and Remus gulped in huge lungfuls of air. The hand caressed his cheek as it moved up his face, grasping his hair and pulling his head back sharply.

Lupin could not hide his shivering now as his throat was fully exposed to the vampire, who stared at its length appreciatively.

“A bit dirty,” he said, giving Lupin’s neck a long lick. “A bit gritty. But very pleasing, none the less.”

“Shouldn’t we get to know each other first?” Lupin joked through his fear. He was trapped, the only thing he could see was the vampire’s cold blue eyes on his, the piercing glare hypnotising him into comfort. Lupin scrunched his eyes shut – if this was going to happen, he didn’t want to be under the vampire’s spell. The lure to give in peacefully was too strong.

“You smell delicious,” the vampire said as it nuzzled his throat.

“I’m sorry,” Lupin thought to no one in particular as his body tensed in anticipation of the bite.

 

 

Snape relied on the cold weather and basic human physiology to give him his first opening. Within fifteen minutes of duty, one of the men peeled away from the doors they were guarding to relieve himself in the bushes. Two minutes later, the unlucky guard lay dead at Snape’s feet, his robes bunched near his waist as he was brought down with a whispered curse. Snape moved silently back into the shadows, waiting for the man’s companion to come looking for him. Again, the carelessness of Voldemort’s men worked for him. After calling out to his companion and hearing no response, the second guard entered into the dark forest.

Moments later, Snape stepped out. Alone.

Surveying the lay of the land and listening carefully for noises which would signal the advance of reinforcements, Snape made his way to the doors. Cautiously opening one and sliding through, he closed it just as carefully behind him. By his reckoning, the guards would not be missed until the end of their watch, which Snape estimated to be a full two hours away. Plenty of time to find Lupin and get them both the hell out of there.

Snape heard voices. He hadn’t anticipated someone being in Lupin’s cell. Since he’d not seen anyone go in, Snape realised there must be another entrance. This extra piece of information cast his chances of a successful rescue in a new light. He swore silently under his breath and listened. He recognised Lupin’s voice – trying to be brave but obviously wavering with fear and fatigue. He heard the chuckle of a Death Eater. Holding his wand tightly in his hand and calling upon all of his reserve strength, he slipped through the doorway and cast _Impigo_ towards the black-caped figure crouched over Lupin’s body. The Death Eater’s body made a satisfying clunk as it hit the cell wall. He wrapped the man in a full body-bind and made his way over to Lupin.

“Sit up,” Snape ground out as he tried to get Lupin’s mangled body straightened so he could release him from the chains.

“Should of killed him,” Lupin said thickly, the backwash of Snape’s spell stinging his head.

“Didn’t want to risk killing you as well,” Snape replied shortly as he gave the prisoner a quick once-over. Apart from the obvious wounds at his wrists and ankles, and the almost anorexic appearance of his body, it looked as if he would survive. Snape ignored the saliva flooding his mouth as he smelt Lupin’s thick, warm blood. “Can you stand up?”

“Think so,” Lupin said as he hoisted his arm over Snape’s shoulders. “Thank you, Severus.”

Snape smirked wryly. “My pleasure. Now if you’ve finished with the pleasantries, I’d suggest we get the fuck out of here.”

“I’m afraid I can’t let you do that,” a voice said from behind them. Snape turned quickly, releasing Lupin who fell heavily to the ground. The vampire flexed his fingers and Snape’s wand left his tight grip, flying towards the standing Death Eater who plucked it from the air and, with a malicious smile, snapped it in half. He dropped the pieces to the floor and rubbed his hands together, as if he were dusting them off. “Tut tut, my brother. Obviously, you haven’t fully realised the potential of your powers.”

“You,” Snape said, turning pale as he recognised the Death Eater as the vampire who haunted his dreams. The one who had turned him.

The vampire nodded his head politely and grinned. “And such a pleasure it is to see you too. I so rarely get to catch up with my…family.”

“I’m going to kill you,” Snape rasped, ignoring Lupin who was vainly pulling on his cloak.

The vampire’s pupils dilated until the black of his pupils almost drowned out the blue. “And how are you going to accomplish that – wizard?”

Snape hissed as his lips pulled back into a grimace, the sudden appearance of his fangs causing him pain, which he ignored.

“Like that, is it?” the vampire had the audacity to laugh. He pulled his own lips back and showed his sharp teeth. “Then may the best man win.”

Snape threw himself at the vampire. He felt the power he’d long denied rise up through his blood, infusing his muscles with strength. He wrapped his hands around the vampire’s throat and began to squeeze.

The vampire struggled and kicked as he tried to bite Snape’s wrists. Snape twisted as a knee connected heavily with his thigh and threw him off-kilter. He fell back, dimly hearing Lupin’s startled cry as the vampire took advantage of their new position to wrap his hands around Snape’s throat. The two men locked in mortal combat, fingers flexing as they tried to squeeze the life out of each other.

“I should have drunk your blood when I had the chance,” the vampire wheezed, pushing himself forward as he tried to lower his head to Snape’s neck. Snape tried to buck him off, thrusting up against the vampire’s heavy weight as the open mouth and eager fangs drew closer to him.

“Severus!”

He heard Lupin’s warning in the background. Snape held on, clutching all the tighter as his sight started to dim, the lack of oxygen causing his vision to tunnel. One of the vampire’s knees dug cruelly into his side. No matter how he twisted, Snape could not find the purchase to push him aside.

“Mine,” the vampire breathed as his mouth lowered.

In the split second just before death and turning, Snape’s mind replayed the most important parts of his life, but the one that stood out was an image of Harry that he kept closest to his heart.

 _Please. I want you to._

“Not…yours,” Snape hissed. He released the vampire’s neck and, before the Death Eater had the chance to finally sink his fangs into him, Snape moved one hand behind the vampire’s head, one to the point of his chin and, with the last of his strength, twisted sharply.

A loud crack was heard as the vampire’s neck broke. His body convulsed as his brain tried to send messages to the now disconnected limbs. Snape held on tightly and twisted again, throwing the force of his shoulders into the movement. The vampire’s head turned slightly again, then the body was still.

Snape released the vampire’s head and fell back as the body collapsed onto his. Snape grimaced and ineffectually tried to push it off. Feeling queasy, he saw Lupin hunched over him, pulling the vampire’s dead weight off him. Snape turned to the side and heaved – trying to vomit the useless juices of his empty stomach.

“It’s all right, Severus. He’s dead,” Lupin gasped as he dragged the corpse to the corner of the cell and dumped it against the wall.

“Not yet,” Snape groaned, spitting onto the floor. He rolled over. “Move aside.”

When Lupin was standing safely behind him, Snape raised a weary arm. “Accio heart.” With much groaning and cracking, the vampire’s heart burst its way out from the splintered rib cage. The warm heart smacked solidly into his outstretched hand. Snape dropped it to the floor and, with his eyes clenched tight in pain, whispered, “Incendio.” The slimy organ disappeared in a sudden blaze.

Snape fell back, his head connecting hard against the floor. He felt depleted – his lungs hurt, his eyes stung, his mouth was raw from the constant rub of his fangs. Lupin’s scarred, tired face hovered above him.

“Severus? We need to get out of here.”

“Can’t get up. Down here,” Snape muttered as he tugged on Lupin’s sleeve. Lupin lay next to the man, his hand a welcome patch of warmth on Snape’s cold chest. “Hogwarts. Together,” he grunted as he twined his fingers with Lupin’s.

He saw Lupin nod wearily. Snape closed his eyes, took a deep breath and, seconds later, both men were gone.


	15. Chapter 15

Harry sat in the Great Hall, gazing over the long line of student’s tables that groaned under the sheer weight of food and drink. It was as if Hogwarts had decided to combine all the year’s feasts into one spectacular celebration. Bats swooped playfully between the boughs of Christmas trees, while pink, heart-shaped confetti floated delicately from the ceiling. As far as the eye could see, the long tables stretched out into the distance. There were place settings at regular intervals – golden bowls and crystal cups shone spotlessly. So much food, so many seats, and he was the only one there. He wondered if he was expected to eat something from each dish, and how long that would take. Perhaps he was supposed to move along after a certain amount of time, much like Alice in Wonderland.

The regular cadence of footsteps echoing in the empty hall drew his attention. Walking towards him, looking much healthier than he had in ages, was Remus Lupin.

Harry knew he was dreaming.

Remus gave him a smile and swung his leg over the bench, sitting next to Harry and reaching over to grab two open bottles of Butterbeer. He passed one wordlessly to Harry and drunk deeply from his own bottle. Harry took a sip to be polite.

“What are you waiting for, Harry?” Remus asked, as he looked with interest at the dazzling array of piping hot food.

“For you,” Harry replied. He laid a hesitant hand on Remus’ sleeve. “Are you okay?”

Remus ladled a hearty serving of stew into his bowl. “Of course I am. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You were taken. Weeks ago. By – ” Harry whispered.

Remus chuckled under his breath as he blew on his stew. He sniffed appreciatively as the aroma filled the air. “Can’t keep a good man down, Harry. You should remember that.”

“What…,” Harry swallowed thickly. “What about Severus?”

Remus’ eyes pierced into his. “You tell me, Harry. Is Snape a good man?”

“I think so,” Harry barely breathed.

“Then everything will turn out for the best,” Remus said, clapping him on the shoulder and picking up his fork.

“Where is he?” Harry asked.

 

 

“Harry Potter. Mister Harry Potter.”

The high-pitched, urgent voice intruded on Harry’s dreams.

“Dobby?”

The house-elf jumped excitedly from foot to foot. “Headmaster Dumbledore wants you. Headmaster says you is to wake up and come now.”

Harry shot up in his bed, hand reflexively grabbing his glasses and shoving them onto his face. “What is it?”

“They is come, Harry Potter. They is come back.”

 

 

Harry’s chest heaved as he raced into the Infirmary, the sound of his slippered feet smacking against the floor loudly. He threw open the door and got tangled in his dressing gown as he stumbled towards Madame Pomfrey.

“Mister Potter!” she exclaimed, giving him a disapproving look. “I know you’re excited, but this is still a place of recuperation.”

“Where is he? I want to see him,” Harry panted, clutching the stitch in his side.

Pomfrey’s face softened slightly. “He’s here and, luckily for you, awake. Come along.”

Before Harry could say anything else, he was led into a curtained area where Dumbledore sat talking to Remus, who was resting comfortably in bed. Harry came to an abrupt stop.

“Harry, my boy,” Dumbledore said jovially. “Sorry to have woken you up, but I thought you’d want to know the moment Remus returned.”

“Is he - ? Where is - ?”

“Professor Snape has also returned, and is being taken care of,” Dumbledore interrupted gently. “Sit a while – I’m sure you and Remus have a lot to talk about.” Dumbledore patted him gently on the shoulder as he left.

Harry stood frozen, a maelstrom of emotion swirling his head.

“Hello, Harry,” Remus said, opening his arms. Harry stumbled towards the bed, then threw himself into the waiting arms. He hung on tightly as Remus ran soothing hands up and down his back.

“Are you all right?” Harry mumbled against Remus’ chest.

“Yes,” the answer rumbled comfortingly in his ear. “Nothing that can’t be fixed.”

“Shit!” Harry exclaimed, realising how tightly he was pressed against the injured man. He disentangled himself. “Sorry.”

“Quite all right. Glad to see I was so missed. Sit down, you don’t look too well.”

Harry sat heavily onto the chair, pulling it closer to the bed. Remus looked tired but, apart from a few fresh scratches on his face and the bandages on his wrists, seemed to be okay. Harry smiled at him. “I missed you.”

Remus smiled back. “I missed you too. Relax, I’m fine. Poppy is taking excellent care of me. I’ll be healed in no time.”

“What happened?”

Remus rubbed his forehead in consternation. “I’m almost ashamed to admit it. I’d planned to meet some - , well, let’s just call them friends. I received a note saying they wished to change the meeting time and venue. In my enthusiasm, I didn’t verify the source. It was a stupid mistake, and I’m lucky to come out of it alive.”

“Did they…what did they do to you?”

Remus’ face went blank. “Nothing I think you should hear about in great detail. Suffice it to say, I have a more intimate knowledge of one of the Unforgivables than I’ve ever wished for. And I had a nasty run in with a vampire.”

“You mean - ?” Harry asked, eyes widening.

Remus quickly caught on. “Heavens no, Harry, not Severus. Although I’m glad he turned up when he did. I don’t know if the Wizarding world’s ready for a vampiric werewolf,” he added with a grin.

“Is he - , is Professor Snape all right?” Harry stammered.

“I think so.” Remus noticed the concerned look on Harry’s face. “I’m sure he’ll be fine. There was a bit of a struggle, but old Severus showed that vampire what for. Never knew he could be so physical,” Remus said in admiration.

“Right,” Harry said, looking down at the hands clenched in his lap.

“I’m sure the Headmaster will let you see him later, Harry. We were both a bit the worse for wear after we Apparated, I think we both passed out near the boundary. Dumbledore said Fang sniffed us out.”

“I’ll have to thank Hagrid,” Harry rasped.

Remus lay back in his bed. “You look tired. You should go off to bed. I’d see you tomorrow, but there’s a full moon coming. I’m afraid I’ll be out of action for the next few days.”

“Will you - ?”

“I’ll be fine,” Remus said, waving his hand. “Dumbledore has a lovely little place set aside for me. Much more comfortable than the Shrieking Shack, anyway. He’s even made up some Wolfsbane for me. I’m not sure if it’ll be up to the usual standard, but you can’t really insult your boss, can you?”

Harry stood up, tightening his dressing gown more securely around his waist. “Well, I guess I’ll see you soon.”

“That you will, Harry. I’ll make sure to come and say goodbye before I leave. And thank you for coming to visit me. It means a lot that you care so much.”

Harry squeezed Remus’ hand. “I do care, you know. A lot. I’m glad you’re safe now.”

“Me too, Harry,” Remus yawned, his eyes slipping closed in exhaustion. Harry waited until Remus’ breathing steadied. He gave the relaxed hand one last gentle pat, then went in search of Snape.

 

 

“Mister Potter. Shouldn’t you be returning to your quarters?” Madame Pomfrey whispered sternly.

“I just – “

“Ah, Harry. Just the person I was looking for. I’ll see that he gets to bed eventually, Poppy. We have things we need to discuss,” Dumbledore said, coming up silently behind Harry and laying an arresting hand on his shoulder.

Pomfrey let them go, mumbling under her breath about boys needing their sleep if they were ever going to function properly.

“Did you have a good visit with Remus, Harry?”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. I was wondering though…would it be possible for me to see Professor Snape? I want to…want to thank him personally for the risk he took to save Remus.”

Dumbledore’s calculating stare locked onto Harry, who tried his best to look calm.

“Well,” the Headmaster said after some deliberation, “it won’t be the first time you’ve seen him injured. And I’m happy to say he doesn’t look as bad as he has in the past.”

“That doesn’t matter to me,” Harry retorted.

“Nor me,” Dumbledore replied gently. “He’s asleep, but there’s no harm in you spending a few minutes with him.”

Dumbledore led Harry to the other side of the Infirmary, into a corner where thick, dark drapes blocked the view of the patient behind them. Harry raised a hand to the velvety folds, wanting to go inside but wondering if he should while others were present.

“Go on,” Dumbledore encouraged. “I’ll be back in a moment.”

Harry swallowed hard and watched Dumbledore’s retreating back. He took a deep breath – he didn’t know what he was feeling. Just as when he had seen Remus, there were so many emotions running around on the edge of his consciousness he was having a hard time processing them. Of course, he was happy Snape was back, was happy they were both back. A tiny bit of the strangling desperation that had squeezed his chest the last few weeks was slowly easing, and he started to tremble. He was both angry and jubilant at the same time. What had _possessed_ the man to do something as foolish as to go looking for Death Eater haunts? Didn’t he realise that Voldemort would sooner kill him than look at him?

Harry felt his stomach roll queasily as he thought of all the different ways the situation could have ended. Both of them could have been killed. Remus could have been killed and Snape could have been lost. Remus could have disappeared forever and Snape could have been killed. Remus could have been saved and Snape could have died. Severus could have died.

But no matter how much rage filled him, at the base of it was the knowledge that Snape had done it for him. He had risked his life again, and this time just for Harry’s happiness.

Feeling a bit calmer, Harry slid between the curtains.

Snape lay on his side, his hair covering half his face. His breathing was soft and regular, his features relaxed. Harry couldn’t see any visible wounds, and wondered what he had suffered to make his stay in hospital a necessity.

Unlike Remus, Harry needed no time to think before going straight to Snape’s side. He looked down at the stern face – the deep grooves still visible around the down-turned mouth, the hook of his large nose, the straight line of his closed lips. Harry tenderly pushed the tendrils of hair off Snape’s face and smiled at their softness. Pomfrey must have had a field day on Severus’ hair while he was incapacitated. Harry smoothed his knuckles over Snape’s cheek softly and bit his lip. So close. He had been so close to losing this, to losing everything. He bit his lip harder, determined not to let a sound leave his mouth.

“That was some stunt you pulled, sir,” he whispered.

“It was, wasn’t it,” Dumbledore quietly agreed, slipping in between the curtains. Harry quickly pulled his hand away from Snape’s face.

“As you can see, Professor Snape is well enough,” Dumbledore continued, resting a hand on Snape’s blanket-covered shoulder. “I have no doubt he’ll be up and about in no time.”

“What did they do to him?” Harry asked, looking longingly at Snape’s hand, which peeked out from underneath his pillow.

“They didn’t get a chance to do much, according to Professor Lupin. In fact, he got off relatively unscathed in his encounter with Remus’ captors. The damage was done before that. He ran himself ragged. You may not know this about your Potions master, Harry, but once he has an idea stuck in his head, he won’t let it go. I doubt he allowed himself much food or sleep, apart from the bare essentials. He can be quite stubborn,” Dumbledore said fondly.

“Yeah, I’ve realised that,” Harry said with a slight smile. “Will he be waking up soon?”

“Not for many hours. Madame Pomfrey thought it best to give him Dreamless Sleep to aid in his recuperation. He won’t awake until tomorrow.”

“I’ll come back,” Harry vowed, his eyes scanning Snape’s body, as if imprinting the image in his mind, just in case Snape disappeared again.

“I’m sure he’ll be happy to see you. Good night, Harry.”

“Good night, sir,” Harry said to Dumbledore, not looking at him. “Good night, sir,” he said to Snape, his voice barely a whisper.

 

 

Back in his bed, Harry had the first uninterrupted night’s sleep he’d had in months. And, while he couldn’t remember his dreams, he knew them to be happy.

 

 

At breakfast, Harry told Ron and Hermione the good news. Both were pleased, and told Harry to pass on their best wishes the next time he saw Professor Lupin. They even seemed happy when Harry told them that Snape was okay, and said nothing about his intention on visiting him later in the day.

Harry sat through his classes with barely concealed impatience. He knew he couldn’t get out of them without getting into trouble, so grumbled internally about the day’s slowness. In Transfigurations he couldn’t make his slipper turn into a vase, but Professor McGonagall overlooked his mistakes, whispering to him at one point how pleased she was that Lupin had been found. She said nothing of the sacrifices Snape had made, and Harry had to bite back the angry words that threatened to spill from his mouth.

In Divinations, Ron took pity on his lack of concentration and searched for the relevant passages they need to copy so as not to get into trouble from Trelawney.

Lunch, then double Potions, where Harry scowled at Professor Flitwick, who he usually liked, but didn’t want to see in this setting. The short wizard had no right to be touching Snape’s jars, or commenting on the state of their cauldrons. It was Snape’s job, and Snape’s room, and no one else should be there. Harry scowled again and thought he might be going a bit mental.

At last, his classes for the day were over, and he took his leave of Ron and Hermione at the library. He tried to appear nonchalant as he walked to the infirmary, keeping his head down so as not to catch the eye of anyone he knew. He didn’t want to stop for conversation, he just wanted to see Snape again.

Madame Pomfrey didn’t looked surprised to see him, but repeated her warning that this was a hospital, so he was not to stumble about causing problems. Casting a glance at Remus’ empty bed, Harry hoped the man’s transformation wouldn’t be an unusually painful one. Standing outside of Snape’s closed area, he heard the Headmaster’s easy tones, and the lower rumblings of Snape. He was awake.

Harry cleared his throat. What was the protocol when trying to visit someone in the infirmary? When he’d gone to see his friends, the curtains had always been pulled back. How did one knock on material?

The thick drape was drawn back by Dumbledore. “Ah, Harry, my boy. I was just telling Professor Snape that you would no doubt be along to see him at some point. Why don’t you step in a moment – I must speak Madame Pomfrey.”

Harry stepped aside to let the Headmaster pass and drew the curtains closed behind him. He looked at the floor, he raised his eyes to the foot of the bed. He didn’t know if he had the courage to look up.

“Potter.”

That voice. The voice he hadn’t heard in weeks. The voice he’d been afraid he would never hear again.

Finally, Harry raised his head and looked. Snape was sitting up in bed, propped up against thick pillows. For a second, Harry experienced dejá vu as he remembered the last time he’d seen Snape in that position. Then, he’d wanted to thank Snape for saving his life. He had been filled with apprehension and a vague sense of doing the right thing. This time, he wanted to thank Snape for risking himself again, just to make Harry happy.

“You stupid bastard,” Harry said thickly. Snape raised an incredulous eyebrow and Harry threw himself at the man, wrapping his arms tightly around his body and burying his face against the pale neck. “Don’t you ever, ever do anything like that again, or I’ll kill you myself.”

Snape chuckled, the sound slightly wheezy. “If that’s the thanks I get, rest assured, I’ll never again do a thing for you.”

“I mean it,” Harry said, pulling away slightly so he could see Snape’s face. “Don’t ever leave me like that again. You didn’t even tell me what you were going to do!”

“It would have caused problems,” Snape said, running his hand up Harry’s side and onto his shoulder. “I didn’t want you to worry.”

Harry ignored the statement, but filed it away in his mind for consideration later. “What’s with this?” he asked, running his thumb over one of Snape’s fangs.

Snape looked annoyed. “I can’t make them retract. It’s going to make it a hell of a lot more difficult to keep students attention focussed in class, I can guarantee that.”

“I don’t know,” Harry said, laughing weakly. “You can always threaten to bite them.” His face fell. “Don’t leave me like that again.”

Snape’s fingers tangled in the hair at Harry’s nape. “I promise you, I won’t. Next time, I’ll tell you that I’m going.”

“You’re not to leave me again,” Harry said stubbornly.

“Harry,” Snape said, his fathomless eyes boring into Harry’s. “The curse has accelerated. It won’t be long now.”

“Don’t say that,” Harry whispered, his fingers clutching Snape’s shoulders. “I mean it, Snape, don’t joke about things like that!”

“What happened to ‘Severus’?” Snape teased, his fingers moving gently in Harry’s hair. “I save your friend’s life – a friend, I might add, I don’t even particularly like – and you go all formal on me? What next?”

“Please, Severus, don’t muck around,” Harry pleaded.

Snape carefully pushed Harry away. “You should sit down. Albus will be back at any moment.”

Casting a resentful glance at the chair, and a longing look at Snape, Harry moved away, pulling the chair up to Snape’s bedside. Snape took one of Harry’s hands and ran his thumb over his knuckles.

“Severus?”

“Hmmm?”

“Are you…are you really sure?”

Snape’s thumb stopped moving, and he threaded his fingers through Harry’s until their hands were palm to palm. “I am. I think all my exertions have sped up the process. There are little things I’m noticing, apart from the fangs. I’m not going to make it until June. And I won’t stay like this.”

Harry grit his teeth against the pain he could feel swelling in his chest. “You won’t – “

“If I don’t, who will? You? No matter what you promise, I’m afraid I don’t believe you’ll be able to carry out the final steps.”

“I don’t want you to die,” Harry said softly.

Snape let out an anguished bark of laughter. “Potter, I don’t want to die! But I won’t live as a vampire. It wouldn’t be living. All I’ve ever done, all that has made me what I am, will be taken from me. I can’t live an eternity like that.”

“If you had to, if there was no choice, I’d – “

“Don’t!” Snape hissed. “Don’t even say it. You have your place in the world, a destiny that needs to be fulfilled. And regardless of whether or not the Prophecy is correct, you are our best chance at finally ridding the world of the Dark Lord. You can’t give that up, not for me.”

“But I want – “

The sounds of the curtains being pushed aside made Harry jump in his seat, pulling his hand out of Snape’s grasp. Dumbledore stepped in. “Having a nice visit?”

“Yes, sir,” Harry replied, hoping he didn’t look as guilty as he felt.

“Potter was just leaving,” Snape rumbled behind him.

“So soon?” Dumbledore blinked. “Very well then – “

“Actually, sir. I mean, sirs,” Harry said in a moment of inspiration. “I was thinking that, since Professor Snape is feeling so poorly, perhaps it may be a good idea if I,” he lowered his voice, “made a donation.”

Dumbledore clapped his hands together. “What a splendid idea!”

Snape scowled. “Absolutely not.”

“Now, Severus, there’s no need to be like that. It’s not the first time it’s happened and it will probably do you a world of good.”

“I don’t want to,” Snape said sullenly, crossing his arms across his chest. “There’s no point in stalling the inevitable.”

“Severus – “

“Albus,” Snape said warningly.

“Sir!” Harry interrupted. “I really don’t mind. In fact, I’d like to. I haven’t really thanked you for what you’ve done.”

“Potter, I’m not going to take your blood as thanks,” Snape said irritably. “If you feel such an overwhelming need to thank me, you can buy me one of those infuriating, cacophonous get-well cards I see surrounding your bed every time you get injured. After a few hours of being subjected to that music, I’ll no doubt be so sickened I’ll either leave the infirmary in desperation or die happily.”

“You’re not going to die,” Harry said, his eyes flashing angrily.

“Oh, aren’t I?” Snape retorted.

“Boys,” Dumbledore sighed. “I thought you were beyond such petty bickering. Severus, it’s a wonderful idea, and I insist you take advantage of Harry’s kind offer. You’re available now, aren’t you, Harry?”

“Yes, sir” Harry said, smirking with satisfaction at Snape. “I’ve no more classes today.”

“Good, good,” Dumbledore said. “Severus, I shall stop in tonight after dinner. Harry, perhaps a few privacy spells might be in order? I’ll tell Madame Pomfrey you aren’t to be disturbed.”

Snape swore under his breath. Harry grinned. “Okay, Headmaster. And thank you.”

“Thank you, Harry. Severus, behave.”

After Dumbledore had closed the curtains, Harry cast a silencing spell. He turned to see Snape’s baleful glare. “What?”

“What?” Snape repeated snidely. “I told you I don’t want to do it. I told him,” he said, tossing his hair towards the door, “I don’t want to do it. I might as well not bother speaking, for all the good it does me.”

“Are you comfortable?” Harry asked, kicking off his shoes and removing his tie.

Snape glared at him. “What, exactly, do you think you’re doing?”

Harry sighed. “I swear, sometimes you don’t act like the intelligent man I know you are. Budge over.”

“I most certainly will not!”

“Fine!” Harry snapped, climbing onto the bed and straddling Snape’s lap. He adjusted himself until he was comfortable, his knees on either side of Snape’s waist. “Comfortable?”

Snape looked away, his arms still crossed tightly against his chest. Harry leaned over and sniffed his hair. “What sort of shampoo do you think this is? I like it.”

“Hippogriff shite, as far as I’m concerned. Will you get off me?”

“Why are you making things so difficult? Oh wait, I forgot who I’m talking to. It’s your passion in life to make problems where there aren’t any.”

Snape bared his fangs.

Harry chuckled.

Snape closed his eyes and sighed, uncrossing his arms and throwing himself dramatically back onto the pillows. “Very well. Have your way with me and be done with it.”

Harry started to laugh silently, his body causing the bed to shake. Snape opened his eyes suspiciously and Harry couldn’t help it. His peals of laughter echoed in the sound-dampened room.

“Shouldn’t I – ,” he gasped, removing his glasses to wipe the tears streaming down his cheeks, “shouldn’t I be the one who says that? You’re the one that’s going to suck my blood, after all.”

“I’m not going to suck it, Potter,” Snape said, a small grin twisting his lips. “I’m going to guzzle it.”

“Oh! Guzzle away, sir,” Harry said, his breath hitching as his laughter left him, although his eyes were still overly bright. They stared at one another, their argument entirely swept away in the comfort of each other’s presence.

Snape’s pale hands moved slowly down Harry’s chest, undoing the buttons of his shirt one by one. When he reached the bottom, he pulled the shirt out of Harry’s trousers and pushed it open. Harry shrugged it off and threw it onto the chair.

Light fingers danced up Harry’s chest, moving over his skin until they came to rest in the warm hollow of his throat. Harry held Snape’s face between his hands and lifted it slowly, moving down to press their lips together. It was their first kiss – the first time they had both meant it. Harry moved his mouth over Snape’s, feeling the man’s smirk leave as the lips relaxed and moved under his.

Harry exhaled slowly as hands moved around his waist, pressing into the skin of his stomach before circling around and stroking up his back. It was so gentle, so warm being here together, loving each other softly like this. Harry never wanted it to stop. He pushed the intrusive thought away before it gained a hold.

Snape leaned back, pulling Harry down with him. Harry wound his arms around Snape’s neck and deepened the kiss, the first brush of tongues making him quiver. Warm hands pulled firmly on his shoulder blades and Harry’s legs straightened until he was lying on top of Snape, his bare chest pressed against the man’s covered one.

Harry opened his eyes and pulled away from the kiss, smoothing Snape’s limp hair away from his face. Snape stroked the heavy fringe from Harry’s forehead, ghosting his thumb over the lightening bolt scar.

“I think…I mean, I’m glad you’re back,” Harry whispered. “Don’t ever leave me again.”

Snape’s eyes darkened and he ran the tip of a finger over Harry’s lips. “Kiss me again.”

Harry smiled and leant down. Their mouths moved languidly, wetly against each other as Harry pushed the sheets off Snape’s legs. He kicked them to the foot of the bed and stretched out completely, moulding every part of his body to Snape’s. Snape sighed under him and parted his legs, allowing Harry’s pelvis to nestle against his, cradling him into his body.

Their kisses became harder, faster, and Harry started to pant as he lifted his mouth off Snape’s, licking his lips as he felt strong hands travel down the hot flesh of his back and grab onto his arse, pulling him closer. Harry groaned and his forehead hit the pillow, relishing the sinuous movements beneath him, the warm tongue licking his neck. Harry clenched his arse, thrusting into the pulsing erection he could feel through the material of the hospital gown. He pushed again, slowly, each incremental movement causing shivers of excitement to fan out through his muscles.

Harry moaned in anticipation as long fingers tangled painfully in his hair, holding him still as Snape’s fangs pierced the tender flesh of his neck. Harry bucked violently, his whole body shuddering at the welcome intrusion. Hot breath seared his shoulder. Snape’s other hand clutched his arse, pulling Harry’s cock roughly against his own.

“God, yes,” Harry moaned. He licked Snape’s neck frantically, thrusting against him with vigour. His skin burned where Snape’s mouth worked, hard and wet, against his skin. Harry bit Snape’s neck in turn, worrying the flesh as he felt his life’s blood spurting from his own throat and pulsing into Snape’s eager, sucking mouth. Snape wrapped his legs around Harry’s and pushed violently upward, grinding their cocks together. A moment of rigid bliss and then Harry convulsed in orgasm against Snape’s rutting body.

Snape panted against Harry’s throat and his thrusts became less controlled, his hips driving erratically into Harry’s sated body. Harry felt warm liquid seeping through his trousers from both inside and out as his body lost all its strength and he collapsed fully against Snape. The suction at his throat lessened as Snape slowly pulled out. Harry trembled as Snape’s tongue lapped languidly at his skin until he was clean and whole again.

Snape’s arms tightened protectively around him and Harry buried his head into the warm mass of hair.

“Don’t leave me again,” Harry whispered, hating the pleading tone in his voice. He almost sobbed when he heard the quiet reply.

“I’ll try not to.”


	16. Chapter 16

Harry yawned and grunted a good morning to his friends as he dropped his heavy school bag and slumped into his seat, pulling over a bowl of porridge and digging in. Hermione waved distractedly and turned back to her conversation with Neville. Ron pushed a glass of pumpkin juice over and asked, “Rough night?”

“Mmm,” Harry said, between mouthfuls.

“You stayed out pretty late.”

Harry’s hand paused mid-reach then grasped his cup, muscles moving like a rusty machine. “Decided to have a bit of a fly.”

“You should have asked me to come with you!”

“Yeah, well – I went to the library and you were already gone, so I thought you and Hermione were up to something.”

“Mmm,” Ron agreed, a fond smile on his face. “Not much privacy in the Burrow. So, how’s your neck?”

“Fine thanks,” Harry replied, rubbing the aforementioned area. He froze, a look of shock appearing on his face as he went pale. Ron nodded nonchalantly and continued eating.

“Er…, I mean, what are you talking about? There’s…er…nothing wrong with my neck.”

Ron snickered around his toast. “Harry mate, I love you like the brother I never had, but you’re a shit liar.”

“You’ve got plenty of brothers,” Harry said weakly.

“Yeah, but most of the time I like you more. Gonna finish your breakfast?”

Harry nodded and continued to spoon porridge into his mouth, although it now tasted like wet cardboard.

“It’s all right, Harry,” Ron whispered, nudging him in the ribs lightly.

“What’s all right?” Harry said, his heart pounding. _Oh shit, oh shit…_

“Harry, are you feeling well? You look awfully pale,” Hermione called across the table, a look of consternation frowning her forehead.

“He’s fine,” Ron answered, pushing away from the table and slapping Harry on the shoulders. “Come on, mate, or we’ll be late for Divinations.”

Harry stumbled behind Ron, joints shaking with fear. What could this mean? Did Ron know Severus was a vampire? How long had he known? What was he going to say about it? And why wasn’t he freaking out?

Pushing his way through the post-breakfast crowd, Harry became more aware of his surroundings and realised that Ron was indeed leading him to class.

“No!” Harry whispered, pulling Ron down another corridor. Within minutes they were inside the Room of Requirement. Ron threw himself on a facsimile of his favourite couch in the Gryffindor common room while Harry nervously paced the floor.

“What did you mean by that?” Harry asked accusingly, pointing a finger at Ron.

“What did I mean by what?” Ron replied with a chuckle, lying comfortably on his back, fingers threaded behind his head.

“Ron, don’t play games with me. What did you mean about my neck?”

Ron sighed in exasperation, as if Harry were a particularly dense child. “I was simply asking if your neck had healed okay after Snape bit into it. I know a vampire’s bite isn’t supposed to hurt, but you’re looking more groggy than usual this morning…”

“Oh fuck,” Harry moaned, collapsing onto a seat before his knees gave way.

“Harry? Are you all right, mate? You’re looking really white.”

“Damn… promised…kill me,” Harry wheezed.

“I think you’re hyperventilating,” Ron exclaimed, pushing Harry’s head down between his knees. “Take a deep breath, you’ll feel better soon.”

Blinking drops of panicked sweat out of his eyes, Harry tried to calm down and be rational. He took in several deep breaths, holding and expelling them slowly until he felt his body stop shaking.

“Here,” Ron said, thrusting a glass of water into Harry’s hand. Harry sat up and quaffed the liquid, avoiding Ron’s eyes.

“Better?” Ron asked, taking the empty glass from his friend’s hand and sitting down next to him.

Harry nodded, a look of mortification his face. He was dead, he knew it. Snape was going to kill him, even if it wasn’t his fault that Ron knew.

Ron sighed. “Sorry, mate. I was only messing about. I didn’t know you’d get so upset.”

“What - ?” Harry croaked, clearing his throat. “What exactly do you know?”

Ron sighed again, a pensive look crossing his face as he rubbed his chin. “I know Snape’s a vampire, and I know you’ve been letting him feed off you. It’s sort of funny – everyone always said he was, and he is.”

“How did you find out?” Harry whispered.

“I just sort of guessed. I probably shouldn’t have sprung it on you like that,” Ron said, shame-faced. “Snape hasn’t been acting that different from what he usually does, but after Hermione told me what happened in class when you cut your hand, and the amount of time you’ve been spending with him, and I saw your neck a few weeks ago before you tried to heal it, I just – .”

“What are you going to do about it?”

Ron sat up indignantly. “Nothing! Why? What do you think I’m going to do about it?”

“You hate him,” Harry said quietly.

“Yeah, well, I thought you did too, but I guess I’m wrong. You were really worried when he went missing.”

“Remus was missing too.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t see you moping around Professor Lupin’s quarters. So, you going to tell me what’s been going on all year, or do I have to keep guessing?”

Harry pulled his knees up under his chin and stared at a spot in the distance. “What have you told Hermione?”

“Nothing,” Ron answered, then, seeing the look of disbelief on Harry’s face, exclaimed, “I haven’t! It was only a theory – I wasn’t sure and I didn’t want to tell her unless I was right. I don’t have to tell her everything, you know.”

“She’ll kill you when she finds out you’ve been keeping secrets from her,” Harry said with a small grin.

“Yeah, and she’ll do the same thing to you,” Ron replied, punching Harry in the arm. “So, you going to tell me, or do I have to keep guessing.”

Harry sighed. There was nothing for it. Ron already knew Snape’s secret and hadn’t spread it, so there was nothing to lose by filling him on the whole truth. Well, at least part of the truth.

He told Ron about the vision he’d had at Grimmauld Place, and how badly Snape had been tortured protecting him. He told him about the way he’d found about the curse by using his Invisibility cloak and Snape’s reaction to the news. He tried to explain to Ron how sorry he’d felt for Snape, and how sorrow had changed into respect and a desire to help the surly man, and how that had started their Saturday night ritual. He told Ron proudly about how much better he was in Occlumency, and how Voldemort hadn’t managed to penetrate his dreams since he’d resumed those classes.

He told Ron about the poem and all he knew about the curse, and how Snape had killed the vampire who’d originally cursed him and how that hadn’t helped. He told him that Snape’s time was running out.

By the end of his recitation, Harry’s throat was dry and Ron managed to convince Dobby to sneak them some bottles of Butterbeer, despite the early time of day. They drank in companionable silence.

Harry felt a sense of relief at having everything off his chest, but realised again how drowsy he was. Perhaps he hadn’t been getting as much rest as he needed. He thought back to the previous evening and couldn’t stop a light blush rising up his face as he thought about why he’d been so late to bed.

Ron finished his drink and passed another bottle to Harry in silence. He twisted off the lid and bounced it on his palm. Harry recognised the gesture as one he made when he was deep in thought.

“So, what are you going to do about it?” Ron finally asked, clenching his fist around the lid.

Harry looked at him in confusion. “I mean,” Ron said, gritting his teeth, “what are you going to do about helping Snape?”

“There’s nothing to do,” Harry said sharply. “You heard the poem. The vessel must spill or be damned? He’s already spilled his blood and there…there’s no way Snape’s going to stay as a vampire. If he’s said it once, he’s said it a thousand times, so he’s just going to have to kill himse…“ His voice broke.

“So - that’s it? You’re just giving up, like he is?”

“What do you want me to do?” Harry yelled. “We’ve searched every book we can think of; every potion, every spell, every last fucking clue and nothing’s worked! You make it sound like I want him to die!”

“Of course you don’t want him to die, any idiot can see that,” Ron yelled back. “Even I don’t want him to die, even if he is a miserable, sarcastic bastard who wouldn’t piss on you if you were on fire.”

Harry stared at Ron, his mouth hanging open in amazement. Ron looked at his stunned expression and started to chuckle, the sounds jagged. Harry started to laugh, and within seconds, both boys were screaming hysterically, clutching onto their stomachs as they gasped for air.

They collapsed onto the lounge next to each other, wheezing and snorting as they gained control of themselves.

“Wouldn’t…piss on you. That’s brilliant,” Harry gasped, wiping tears from his eyes.

“Don’t…tell him…I said that,” Ron replied, a look of pained mirth on his face. “The bastard’ll put me on detention for the rest of the year.”

“Your secret’s safe with me,” Harry chuckled, sinking into the comfortable cushions and regaining control of himself. The skin on his face felt tight, his jaw hurt from smiling. No matter what was happening in his life, he felt good at the moment, and blessed Ron silently for the relief.

“So,” Ron said, huffing as he straightened his twisted body. “Got any ideas?”

“Not a one.”

“You know who might have an idea or two?”

“Why Ronald – whatever do you mean?”

“I mean that I happen to be a very close friend of certain young lady who has been called ‘the brightest witch of her generation’. She might be able to come up with something, even if we can’t.”

“Snape will be furious if Hermione comes up with a solution, and he couldn’t,” Harry said with an evil grin.

“Yeah,” Ron replied, his grin mirroring Harry’s. “Imagine the look on his face.”

Both boys sat back and imagined an infuriated Snape torn between puffed indignation and reluctant thanks. They sighed, although for different reasons.

“Right!” Ron exclaimed, jumping to his feet and pulling Harry up to his. “Class is nearly over, so I reckon we go hang out the front of Arthimancy and grab her there. We can come back here and think up a battle plan.”

“She might not be so eager to help. This is Snape we’re talking about.”

“True, but it’s also a mystery which will probably require nights of little to no sleep, thousands of paper cuts and constant sneezing from old book dust. She’ll be in seventh heaven.”

“Fair enough.”

“You going to tell him about it?” Ron asked as they were about to step outside.

“What, that we’re looking? No. I don’t want to get his hopes up.”

Ron snorted. “As if he’d believe we’d be able to do anything anyway. After all, we’ve only knocked out a fully-grown Mountain Troll, got past life-threatening puzzles, managed to save a convicted murderer from the Dementor’s kiss, and that’s not even going into all the stuff you’ve done by yourself. He must think we’re a pack of idiots!”

“Yeah, I think he does,” Harry said with a fond smile on his face.

“You going to visit him tonight?”

“Er, yeah.” Harry pulled at his collar nervously. “He’s still pretty weak and I think my blood’s making him feel better.”

Ron looked at him with a knowing glint. “Anything else you want to tell me?”

“No,” Harry stammered. “That’s everything.”

Ron sighed. “Fair enough, mate. But when we get Hermione in here, let’s just talk about Snape’s vampire thing. I don’t think she could cope with that and the fact that you’re a poof in one sitting.”

“But…What?” Harry stuttered as Ron strutted out of the room.

“Bad enough you’re doing it, but we don’t need to hear about you bumping uglies with the greasy git!”

“Ron!” Harry screamed in shock, frozen in front of the doorway.

Ron wiggled his eyebrows and whistled nonchalantly.

Harry chased him out of the room and down the corridor.

 

 

The rest of the day passed in a blur of activity. After catching Ron and smacking him around the head a few times (while his taller, broader friend laughed) the two convinced Hermione to skip her next class and hide with them in the Room of Requirement. Harry repeated the information he’d told Ron earlier in the morning (barring the last bit) and answered Hermione’s questions as best he could. There was still so much they didn’t know, but there was no one they could go to for help. Bad enough if Snape found out that two more infuriating Gryffindors knew of his plight.

 

 

Harry nodded politely to Madame Pomfrey and smoothed his fringe down. So far, she hadn’t commented on his visiting a professor it was widely known he hated, but he doubted her inquisitive nature would be satisfied with silence for much longer.

As Harry stood by the closed curtains surrounding Snape’s bed, he overheard Dumbledore saying stridently, “Not until Poppy says!”

Snape replied, “If she has her way, I’ll never get out of here. I want to go home!”

Harry smirked – it was amazing – just by listening to Snape’s tone, he could tell the man was glaring.

“And you will, but not until you’ve been cleared. You’re still too weak, and we don’t know what effect the acceleration is having on your body. What if the change occurs suddenly? Do you want to be responsible for attacking and possibly harming someone? What if Harry were with you at the time?”

Snape mumbled under his breath. Dumbledore chuckled. “That may be the case, but if he wants to visit, you can’t stop him.”

“I can.”

“But you won’t.”

Silence. Harry wondered if he should make his presence known.

“And there’s still that other matter to clear up,” Dumbledore said in a strange tone.

A pregnant pause. “Really?”

“Yes. I believe it is about time we tell Harry the truth. This farce has gone on long enough.”

Snape’s voice was tight. “I don’t believe that would be a good idea.”

“Severus, the boy has a right to know that you are his father.”

“What?” Harry screeched, twisting in the curtains and falling into an untidy heap at Dumbledore’s feet.

“What?” he screamed again, sitting up woozily as the blood fled from his brain. “Father…What?”

As the sound of waves roared in his ears and he looked around for a convenient place to throw up, Harry noticed the positively wicked twinkle in Dumbledore’s eye. The wizard’s mouth stretched into a huge grin and his shoulders started to shake with laughter.

Harry looked around in confusion and saw Snape’s lips twist as he too tried to hold back his mirth. Harry put his forehead to the floor and swallowed, ignoring the petrified pounding of his heart.

“Harry,” Dumbledore said between chuckles.

“What - He?” Harry gasped.

“Oh for Merlin’s sake, Potter, get a hold of yourself!” Snape’s acidic voice cut through Harry’s bewilderment and he started to calm down. Snape was being snide. Everything was going to be okay.

“I’m sorry, my boy, I couldn’t resist. I wish you could see the look on your face!”

“Very…amusing…sir,” Harry wheezed as Dumbledore helped him to his feet. “Ha…ha. How did you…know I was there?”

Snape leaned back on his pillows. “I knew the moment you walked into the Infirmary. You have a distinctive scent,” he leered. “I’m not sure how the Headmaster knew.”

“Oh, I have my ways. And I truly am sorry to have startled you, but it seemed the perfect opportunity to reinforce the notion that those who eavesdrop rarely hear anything they wish to.”

“Oh. Okay then,” Harry stammered. He cast a glance at Snape from under his fringe. “So I’m not - ?”

Snape snorted. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re the spitting image of James Potter. I’m no more your father than Professor McGonagall is your mother.”

“That’s good to know,” Harry said, blushing. “That was a really cruel thing to do, Headmaster.”

Dumbledore’s grin left his face, although his eyes still gleamed. “No doubt it was, Harry. I apologise again – I so rarely get to prank anyone these days. Severus seems to know all my tricks.”

Snape rolled his eyes. Harry swallowed hard and tried not to faint.

“Well,” Dumbledore said, rubbing his hands together briskly. “I’ll be off. Harry, you’ll stay and - ?” He gestured towards his throat.

Harry nodded.

“Good, very good. Until tomorrow then, Severus. Sleep well. You too, Harry.”

“Good night, sir,” Harry called out weakly. As soon as the Headmaster had left, he quickly cast the standard Silencing spells and collapsed into a chair.

“Shit. Fuck,” Harry swore, resting his head on Snape’s bed. He felt Snape’s fingers move gently through his hair.

“And you!” Harry exclaimed, sitting up abruptly. “How could you let him do that?”

“What was I supposed to say?” Snape replied coolly, folding his arms over his chest. “I couldn’t warn you, and I had no idea what he had planned.”

“Yeah, but – fuck!”

“Indeed.”

They sat in silence for a moment. Harry shivered. “You know, if that were true – “

A look of disgust crossed Snape’s face. “Quite.”

Harry shook his head in wonder. “He is one crazy…well, I’d best not say what I want to.”

“He is an insane old codger who has the sense of humour of an adolescent Death Eater.”

Harry shuddered. “Enough,” he said, standing up and removing his shoes and robe. “We’re not related, right?”

A smirk crossed Snape’s face. “Right.”

“Positive?” Harry asked with a smile as he climbed up onto the bed to lie besides Snape.

“Absolutely,” Snape said softly, rolling to his side so Harry’s body tucked in neatly next to his.

“Then there’s no reason why I shouldn’t do this,” Harry whispered, drawing the dark-haired man’s head down for a kiss.

Snape’s lips touched on his gently, sliding until they found a comfortable position. Harry tightened his hold on the back of Snape’s neck and pulled him further down, opening his mouth slightly and running his tongue over Snape’s dry, firm lips. He felt Snape smile, and relaxed when a hand ran up and down his side.

Harry broke the kiss. “How are you feeling today?”

“Better,” Snape replied, his hand wandering up over Harry’s shoulder and toying with his tie. Harry let himself fall back onto the bed and watched as Snape’s nimble fingers removed his tie and undid the buttons of his shirt.

Harry licked his lips and, noticing Snape’s look of interest, licked them again. “You seem better.”

“It must be all this fine, potent, young blood I’ve been drinking,” Snape said, nuzzling Harry’s neck.

Harry slipped an arm under Snape’s torso, pulling the older man over until he was lying half on top of him. “I thought you were guzzling,” he whispered, stroking the firm muscles in Snape’s back.

Snape lifted his head, his eyes shining with mischief. “If I’m allowed.”

“Guzzle away,” Harry replied, arching his chest as Snape lightly stroked his nipples. Snape smirked and lowered his head to Harry’s chest, licking his sternum with long, wet strokes. Harry threw his leg over Snape’s, pressing their lower bodies together. Snape’s mouth latched onto Harry’s nipple, sucking and licking as his fingers lightly teased the other.

Harry gasped and clenched his hand around the fabric of Snape’s gown. He pulled on the material. “Can I - ?”

Snape’s eyes darkened, and his mouth swooped in for a kiss, forcing Harry’s lips apart with his tongue. Harry moaned as Snape’s hand trailed down his stomach and released the tight confines of his trousers.

He wormed his leg between Snape’s, pushing the man’s knees apart, giving himself more room. Warmth. Strength. Silk. Harry curled his fingers around Snape’s cock and squeezed lightly. He revelled in the shudders that produced and squeezed again as Snape continued to plunder his mouth. Harry pumped his hips, chasing the sensation of Snape’s cool hand ghosting over his erection.

“Harder,” Harry gasped.

“Harder,” Snape’s deep voice rumbled, dropping his head to Harry’s neck, licking avidly at the salty skin. Both men tightened their grips; their strokes became surer and faster as Snape pierced Harry’s neck and started to feed.

“Yeah,” Harry grunted, his eyes squeezed tightly shut as they pumped each other in tandem. He could feel the coarse hairs of Snape’s thighs rubbing against his, the softness of the midnight hair against his face as Snape’s mouth opened wider, sucked harder, sucked with the same maddening tempo of his hand on Harry’s cock.

Harry arched his hips, pushing his prick through the tight ring of Snape’s hand as he came suddenly, thrusting into Snape’s fist as it continued to pull the orgasm from his body.

Harry’s hand trembled and tightened, causing Snape to gasp into his neck as the man thrust down hard, pushing his fangs deeper into Harry’s neck as he jerked and exploded liquid fire around Harry’s willing fingers. Harry slowed down his hand, feeling the viscous fluid of Snape’s release. He sighed and smiled as he felt Snape’s fangs leave his throat, the talented, supple tongue licking up every last drop of his blood and fading the holes to nothingness.

They lay entwined as their breathing steadied. Harry moved his hand and gave Snape’s balls a tiny squeeze. Snape huffed against Harry’s neck and tightened his grip on Harry’s cock.

“Watch the merchandise,” Harry sniggered.

Snape snorted and removed his sticky hand. “Wand?”

Harry reached over his head and grabbed it from the bedside table, holding it out for Snape to use. Snape shook his head and yawned. “You do it.”

Harry cast a simple cleaning spell and returned the wand to its former location, tucking himself into his pants and pulling down Snape’s gown. Snape curled around his body like a touch-starved kitten.

Harry let himself be hugged tightly and caressed the arm that lay across his chest. He still felt damp and the air reeked of sex and blood, but he couldn’t remember feeling more happy.

Snape’s arm twitched on his chest and Harry heard a snuffling noise.

“Severus?”

A slight cough and the bed trembled.

“Severus, are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” Snape said, in a slightly strangled voice.

“What’s wrong?” Harry asked anxiously, pulling away so he could look at him. Snape’s lips were twisted as if he was in pain and his cheeks were flushed pink.

“Are you…are you trying not to laugh?”

A snicker. “Perhaps.”

An incredulous grin crossed Harry’s mouth. “It must be the end of the world. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you laugh. You’ve got to tell me – what’s so funny?”

“I’ve just recalled a poem my great-aunt taught me.”

“Thinking of family members in bed? Kinky.”

Snape barked out a laugh. “Not like that, you wretched boy. It just seemed apt.”

“Well, are you going to tell me, or do I have to beat it out of you?”

“I’m not sure if I should. It’s slightly ribald. It used to annoy my mother no end when my aunt would recite it.”

“Slightly ribald, you say?” Harry said, rolling his eyes. He laid his hand on the juncture between Snape’s thighs. “Hi, I’m Harry Potter. Nice to meet you,” he added, jiggling the flaccid package softly.

“All right, you’ve made your point. Be careful of the merchandise.”

Harry snorted. “Say it to me.”

With a sly look, Snape recited. “ _Aqua fresca, vino buono, pane e burro, cazzo nel culo_.”

“Oh, very funny, Professor. You didn’t tell me it was in another language.”

“It’s Italian, which is remarkably similar to Latin, so even someone of your feeble intellect should be able to gather the meaning of some words.”

“Ha ha,” Harry said with a grimace. “Right, the aqua part is easy, that means water. And the fresca bit sounds like fresh, so I’m going to say that the first bit means fresh water. Am I right?”

Snape nodded.

Harry sighed. “Only you would try to teach me something under these circumstances. Okay. I’m pretty sure vino means wine – maybe buono means bonny?”

“It means good.”

“All right – fresh water, good wine – what was the rest of it?”

Snape repeated the last two lines and Harry crinkled his forehead in concentration. “I don’t suppose burro means donkey?”

Snape chuckled. “No, you half-wit.”

“Okay,” Harry sang, leaning over to give Snape a wet kiss. “I’ve got no idea. You’ll have to tell me.”

“The exact translation is as follows – fresh water, good wine, bread and butter, and a cock up the arse.”

Harry’s jaw dropped. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“According to my great-aunt,” Snape said smoothly, fangs gleaming in the wanning light, “it’s all a man needs to be happy. As I got older, I began to appreciate the sentiment more.”

Harry laughed with delight. “You’re a pervert!”

“Mmm,” Snape hummed, nuzzling Harry’s temple.

“It’s lucky I don’t mind,” Harry sighed, enjoying the attention. “When do you get out?”

“Tonight, if I have any say in it. As I don’t, tomorrow.”

“Can I come and see you tomorrow night?”

Snape licked his neck languidly. “You may.”

“Good,” Harry replied sleepily.

“You can’t stay here.”

“I know.” Harry pressed a kiss on top of Snape’s head. “Can I stay tomorrow night?”

Snape raised his head, a frown creasing his forehead.

Harry squirmed uncomfortably. “What?”

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Harry said, pushing him away and sitting up.

Snape sat up slowly. “It means that I don’t want you to get too attached to me.”

“Are you kidding me?”

A hard glare. “I do not _kid_ , Mister Potter.”

“Oh no, you don’t,” Harry said angrily. “Enough with this ‘Mister Potter’ shite. Tell me what you mean.”

“I mean,” Snape snarled, “that it would be imprudent for you to expect more from me than I am able to give.”

“Can you pretend that I’m a moron for a minute, and actually speak to me in plain English?”

“Don’t get too attached to me because I’m dying!” Snape snapped. “There, is that plain enough?”

Harry swallowed around the lump in his throat. “Don’t you think I know that? I know what’s going to happen to you because of the curse, and I know what you want to do about it. But I won’t waste a second of whatever time we have left together, pretending. If you don’t want me around, then you’ve got to tell me to go, because I won’t leave you myself.”

“I don’t want you to get hurt,” Snape whispered. “And you will be hurt, Harry, especially if I…”

“If you what? Take my virginity? Pop my cherry? Be the first person to make love to me?” Harry laughed morosely. “No matter what happens, I’m going to get hurt. And I’d rather…I’d rather be hurt after having all of you, than by wishing for the rest of my life that I – “

Snape wrapped him tight, the thin, strong arms pulling Harry against him and holding him close. Harry buried his face in Snape’s chest, breathing deeply, happy to hear the slow, steady thump of Snape’s heart beating. _Alive. He’s still alive_.

“Harry.” His beloved voice flowed over Harry’s ears.

“Don’t push me away,” Harry pleaded.

“Are you sure?” Snape asked, after a moment’s hesitation.

Harry lifted his head and kissed Snape softly, his eyes wide open. He took in the pallor of his skin, the limpness of his hair, the crookedness of his teeth. Yes, he was beautiful. And he was all Harry needed. “Are you going to push me away?”

“This may be one of the stupidest things I’ve done in my life, but I too wish for no regrets.” Snape pecked him on the lips and pushed Harry away. “Go to bed. I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

“You will?” Harry asked with delight.

“My quarters, Mister Potter. Come hell or high water, I’ll be out of this blasted Infirmary tomorrow. Make sure you aren’t seen.” Snape smirked.

Harry leaned over and kissed the thin lips. “Yes, _sir_!”


	17. Chapter 17

Snape pulled on his boots as he sat on the edge of the hospital bed. The intricate buttons helped him to focus on the here and now, gave him an opportunity to ignore the myriad of changes he was experiencing. No matter how his body transformed, there were always his shoes and his robes. His armour.

He sensed Dumbledore the moment he walked into the Infirmary and listened half-heartedly to his and Poppy’s conversation. As he’d told Harry the previous evening, he would leave today no matter what.

Harry.

Who was coming to his quarters tonight.

Who felt _something_ for him. For whom Severus felt something as well, even if he wasn’t ready to articulate it yet.

If he’d ever articulate it. He hadn’t been lying when he said he didn’t want to hurt the boy and was honest enough to admit it was inevitable at this point. Even if they stopped now, even if they never laid eyes on each other again, Snape had no illusions about how Harry would take his death. He hoped that his Gryffindor friends would be enough to sustain Harry after he was gone.

Snape ran his tongue around the inside of his mouth, touching it lightly to the tips of his fangs. He pulled his cloak on over his robes – he was feeling the cold more since he’d returned. Not merely sensing it in the environment; he could feel it slide through his skin and settle in his bones. Perhaps his body was withdrawing into itself, gathering its strength. His muscles seemed to throb in expectation, as if he were just around the corner from something big, something amazing.

He didn’t want it to be amazing. He didn’t want to think about how his body would transform and his senses grow until he was something more than himself, something extraordinary. How his hunger would turn him into a needy, wretched creature, under the siren song of blood just as much as Lupin was under the spell of the moon. Perhaps out of everyone, Lupin would understand his decision. If Lupin were stuck in his werewolf form permanently, and were aware of it, Snape doubted he would have existed for so long without ending his life.

The temptation to give in and allow it to happen was potent but, since his early adulthood, he was used to weighing up his options carefully. Too many mistakes in the past had allowed him to recognise what the transformation would be – a glamour, a mirage – a seductive dream that would, in the end, change everything he believed himself to be. Giving in would be a mistake. Much like taking the Dark Mark had been.

His mind bought up a picture of Harry and he pushed it aside. He was not a mistake. For once, he would be selfish. Ethics and common sense aside, he needed Harry just as much as the boy needed him. And if his life were to come to an untimely end for the good of the Cause – his lip twisted sardonically – he would have had his reward. His one good thing. One last pure experience to focus on as he shut his eyes and stepped from this world to the next.

 _Merlin_ , he snorted. _You’re becoming maudlin about your demise_.

“May I come in, Severus?”

“You may.”

Albus stepped into the room. “You’re looking well.”

Snape gave him a fond glare. “You need new glasses. I look dreadful.”

“How do you feel?”

“Like a man balancing on the edge of a cliff.”

Snape watched his old friend fumble unconsciously with his beard. “Albus, I need to ask you to do something for me.”

Dumbledore nodded slowly, a look of determination on his face.

“My time is running out.”

“I know,” the Headmaster agreed softly.

“I…I do not wish to spend an eternity like this. It would be…”

“I know.”

Snape swallowed. This was harder than he thought. Not because he didn’t think Albus would do it for him, he’d just never realised how tightly he hung onto life. “If it seems…inevitable, the change that is. Or if it happens suddenly, I wish for you to – “

“I will.”

“Let me say it!” Snape snarled, then instantly felt ashamed. “I’m sorry. This is more difficult than I thought.”

“Because you have something to give up now?” Dumbledore’s clear, blue gaze seemed to pierce through Snape’s mind.

“Perhaps,” Snape croaked. He cleared his throat. “Albus, when the time is right, I wish for you to…” He was stuck.

“Do you want me to say it?”

Snape shook his head. No, he could do it. “Kill me. And make sure I stay dead.”

Dumbledore’s face collapsed with grief. “I would wish anything but that for you - but if it must be so – Severus, I swear it.”

Snape nodded abruptly and thrust out his hand. Dumbledore clasped it between both of his. They shook hands solemnly.

“There is always hope,” Dumbledore said quietly.

“I am without hope.”

“Then I’ll hope for the both of us.”

 

 

Harry swooped through the air, laughing in exhilaration as Ron raced next to him on his Cleansweep. His red-headed friend growled jokingly and turned into Harry’s path, making them both pull up suddenly to avoid a collision. Ron whooped with joy and closed his eyes, throwing his head back and smiling as the rush of flight blew his hair from his face.

It was Saturday, and the Trio had forgone a trip to Hogsmeade to work on their ‘secret project’. Ron had cajoled Harry outside for some exercise immediately after dinner, after promising Hermione they would meet her in the library. She’d mock-frowned and told them to have a good time.

“Bloody brilliant,” Ron sighed, pushing his sweaty hair off his forehead.

“Yeah,” Harry grinned as they locked away their brooms and returned to the dormitory for a quick clean-up. They slunk into the library as Madame Pince looked over her glasses at them suspiciously.

“Found anything?” Ron whispered.

Hermione shook her head, biting her bottom lip. “Professor Snape was right – there’s hardly any factual information regarding vampires in the journals. There’s just a lot of rumours and fiction.”

“Told you we looked,” Harry said sullenly.

“I never said you didn’t, I just think it’s a good idea if someone, or a few someones not immediately involved in the situation, has a look. It could be that the answer is really obvious and staring us right in the face!” Hermione said hopefully.

“It doesn’t matter, something will turn up,” Harry said with a frown.

“Harry,” Ron whispered, leaning closer to him. “You two have been at it for months and you haven’t found anything. Miss ‘Researcher Extraordinaire’ said she hasn’t found anything. What are you expecting – a miracle?”

“Maybe I am,” Harry shot back, not looking his friends in the face. “Besides, you’ve only just started looking. Something always turns up for me in the end. I’m sure it’ll happen again this time. I’ve got loads of luck.”

“It’s not your luck that’s at question here, Harry,” Hermione said with a frown. “It’s Professor Snape’s.”

“He’s not going to die.”

“You don’t know th – “

“He’s not going to die!” Harry said loudly. He licked his lips, noticing the stares they were getting from the other students in the library. “He’s not. I won’t let him.”

Ron and Hermione shared a look. “Some things aren’t that simple, mate. No matter what, you’ve got to prepare yourself for the possibility – “

“No, I don’t,” Harry said, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. “I won’t entertain the possibility that he’s not going to make it. He has to live, don’t you see? Not another person, not one more single person that I care about can die.”

“Harry, he’s – “ Hermione said, her eyes filling with tears.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Harry said suddenly. He stood up and threw his bag over his shoulder.

“Mate,” Ron began, placing a hand on Harry’s shoulder.

Harry shrugged it off. “Look, I know what you two are saying, and I know why you’re saying it. I appreciate it, I really do. But you don’t understand,” he swallowed. “He _can’t_ die. I don’t think I can lose anyone else, and if he were to…well, that’s beside the point, because it’s not going to happen. Anyway,” he added shortly, “I’ve got to go. I promised I’d visit him after he got out of the Infirmary.”

With a quick nod, Harry strode purposefully out of the library, ignoring the looks sent his way by the younger students.

“Oh, Ron!” Hermione whispered, soaking up the silent tears that ran down her face with a small handkerchief. “What are we going to do? It’s obvious that he can’t cope, and we haven’t found anything to help. I don’t know if Harry will be able to take it!”

“I don’t know either,” Ron mumbled sadly. “I just hope he’s right.”

 

 

Snape dried himself after his shower, looking in the mirror he had charmed to stay free of condensation. He ran a comb through his hair, pulling it sternly off his forehead, leaving it damp and sleek against his head. The wet tendrils moulded to the shape of his skull and, with his severe hairstyle, protruding fangs and pupils so dilated they left only a sliver of white sclera visible, he thought he looked the archetypical vampire of early Muggle films. He grunted as he pulled on his tatty nightshirt and comfortable robe. He turned, glancing at his profile. He was still thin, but his body had padded out slightly during his stay in the hospital. His nose looked enormous from this angle.

He grunted again. No, he would never be attractive. He curled his lips and stared at his crooked teeth. But then, his beauty was not what had drawn Potter to him.

He wasn’t exactly sure what had.

A timid knock drew his attention away from his reflection and he doused the lights in the bathroom, silently moving to the door. Dumbledore had ignored his protests earlier that day and led him back to his rooms. Poppy had made the obligatory fireside call to inquire about his health. It was too late for his Slytherins to be disturbing him. It could only be…

“Potter,” he said as he opened the door, stepping back and allowing a wisp of air to brush past him. By the time he’d re-warded his chambers, Harry had removed his Invisibility Cloak and was standing quite still, a startling picture of power, even in his worn-out pyjamas.

“Hello,” the brat replied, looking both chaste and exotic. Snape felt a smile threatening, so tightened his lips and nodded towards the lounge. While Potter made himself at home, Snape stood in front of a cabinet. Should he offer the boy a drink?

“You’re looking much better,” Harry said.

Yes. A drink.

Harry sipped his whisky on ice and unconsciously licked a spilt drop from his lip. “Professor Dumbledore told me earlier you were back in your chambers. Is there anything I can do, anything I can get you?”

Snape swallowed half his drink and straightened the folds of his robe. “A new body? Some new blood, perhaps?” he said, with a smirk he didn’t feel.

Harry lowered his head. “Can we…?” he began, his words tapering off uncertainly when Snape raised his head sharply.

“Can we - ,” Harry said again, placing his glass precisely in the middle of the table.

“Yes.”

Harry’s eyes smouldered and Snape felt a shiver of expectation run through his body.

He stood up and held out a hand, which the boy accepted with fluid grace. Snape moved closer, stepping into the circle of heat that radiated off the boy. With infinite slowness, he lowered his head as Harry raised his. Their lips met – a tiny, insignificant touch, only millimetres of delicate skin joining them. Harry’s mouth opened and he exhaled slowly over Snape’s mouth, his breath a caress.

Snape opened his mouth to the caress, allowing the boy’s eager tongue to enter and swirl against his teeth. It was maddening the way one kiss could send his senses reeling. In far too short a time, the kiss ended and they found themselves locked in each other’s arms, bodies pressed against each other in symbiotic pleasure.

Harry looked up, and Snape eyed the smooth line of his neck with possessiveness. “I like your hair like that,” Harry whispered, running his hands over the damp locks. His fingers clenched in Snape’s hair and he dragged him down for another greedy kiss.

This time there were moans and gasps and tongues and teeth, smooth thrusting and eager embraces. Snape’s breath stuttered as Harry pushed aside the collar of his robe, his mouth attaching itself limpet-like to Snape’s neck, sucking and tonguing the pale flesh. He ran his hands over the flannel of the boy’s pyjamas, stopping only when they clasped the firm muscle of his arse and pulled him closer.

“I want to go to bed with you,” a sinful voice said from Snape’s chest as it moved around and over his nipples.

“Yes,” Snape hissed as he directed them towards the bedroom, the tight, wet suction on his skin never lessening. Snape grasped Harry’s head and pulled him off, pushing him back onto the bed. Harry chuckled in excitement as he fell back, arms and legs squirming as he looked up, body spread wide for Snape’s enjoyment.

“I like you like that,” Snape murmured, throwing his dressing gown to the floor and crawling onto Harry’s supine body.

“Like what?” Harry asked with a grin, winding his legs around Snape’s.

“Needy,” he breathed and sucked the pulse point at Harry’s neck, just so he could feel the boy thrust up into his stomach.

Harry’s laughter shook his chest. “Are you saying you don’t need me?”

Snape shut him up with a harsh kiss, allowing his full weight to blanket the lithe body wriggling underneath his.

“I want – “ Harry said as his hands began to pull Snape’s nightshirt up.

“Yes,” Snape said, moving off and down, plucking buttons from their holes and easing top and bottom off Harry’s willing body.

The last time Snape had seen Harry’s naked body, he had been too overcome with anger and need to fully appreciate its merit. He ran his fingers lightly from ankles to hipbones, admiring the dark scattering of hair that covered his thin legs. Not knobbly-kneed anymore, but not an ounce of extra weight on him.

“Still too thin,” Snape murmured.

“Just like you.”

There was so much he wanted to do with Harry, so much he wanted to do to Harry, but as he licked his lips and watched the boy’s eyelids half-close in anticipation, he knew exactly where he would start.

Easing himself down, he nuzzled the soft skin of Harry’s inner thighs, biting lightly and licking each tiny mark. Harry shivered, his legs automatically closing against the delicate touch. Snape held them open, steadily drawing the long length of his nose over the twitching skin, over his hip where it skimmed the band of elastic that held his underpants up. From this vantage, it was impossible to ignore how aroused the boy was, his swollen cock pushing up vainly against the material. Snape rubbed his cheek against it, allowing himself the luxury of inhaling deeply and smelling the heady musk of arousal.

He hummed in pleasure as he ran his closed lips over the taut fabric, feeling the patch of dampness where Harry’s pleasure could not be contained. Harry hissed and pushed his hips up, rubbing his cock over Snape’s mouth. Snape lowered his head, nuzzling his nose against the heavy package of the boy’s balls.

“You’re trying to kill me,” Harry groaned.

Snape raised his head and bared his fangs, knowing it would garner a smile. Harry obliged and, just as he was about to open his mouth to say something else, Snape lowered his mouth onto the tip of Harry’s cock and sucked, tasting cloth and heat and ready juices.

“Fuck,” Harry hissed, spreading his legs eagerly. Snape felt hands twitching in his hair, trying to gain purchase as he licked from the top of his cock to the bottom of his balls. He exhaled slowly, knowing the sensation to be pleasurable.

“Fuck. Please!” Harry begged, hips moving in quick, shallow thrusts. Snape hooked a finger into the top of Harry’s pants, pulling them down and to the side just enough for his hipbone to be laid bare. He ran his tongue delicately over the smooth skin exposed and stopped at the shallow indentation of hipbone and crotch.

“Femoral artery,” he whispered. He felt Harry’s pulse trembling under his lips. He couldn’t hold back. He growled and sank his teeth into the spot.

The taste was exquisite; the blood here ran thicker and heavier than in the other places he’d fed. He growled again as Harry’s body writhed under his mouth and eagerly rode the movements, sucking hard and fucking the holes his fangs had created with his tongue. He could vaguely hear Harry’s whimpers and pleas for more but they were a background accompaniment to the pounding of blood in his own ears, the rush and thrill he felt as he allowed his bloodlust to break free. He knelt up, neck crooked at an awkward angle, mouth pulling incessantly, hands holding Harry’s hips in place as the boy struggled to squirm and find friction and with a scream Harry came, cock pulsing in his pants, as he sucked and swallowed and gorged himself. He felt Harry’s come spurt out and over and some spilt onto his hip and Snape sucked that up just as eagerly, come and blood and heat and life mixing in his mouth, coating his tongue as his heart pounded in his chest and he felt alive, alive, alive…

Senses reeling he pulled back, pressing a hand onto the holes to slow the flow of blood. The boy was flat on his back, chest heaving as he gasped for breath, running a shaky hand through his hair and adjusting his glasses. Snape swallowed and lowered his head again, smoothing healing saliva over the holes until they closed. He licked the surrounding area free of blood and semen and rolled away, staring at the ceiling as he felt his own cock throbbing with anticipation. He ignored its pleas for release and revelled in the sensations of fullness and well being.

“That was…” Harry said, clearing his throat and moving to rest his head on Snape’s chest.

“Hmm,” Snape agreed, running his fingers through Harry’s sweaty hair. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, enjoying the mixture of scents filling his bedroom.

“Don’t go to sleep just yet.”

Snape chuckled. “I hadn’t intended to.”

“I know you’re still sick and I don’t want you to overexert yourself, but – “

“Potter,” Snape said, rolling to his side suddenly. The boy looked at him fondly.

“Yes, Professor?” Harry teased, rubbing his knee over Snape’s erection.

Snape’s eyes darkened. “You taste divine,” he said, just to see the boy blush.

Mission accomplished, he ran his hands over Harry’s chest, circling his nipples and pulling gently on the hair scattered over his chest.

“I’m going to take these off,” Harry said, sitting up and peeling off his sodden pants. “Too sticky,” he qualified as Snape’s eyes ran over his body appreciatively.

“And I think you should take this off, too.”

Snape lay compliant, allowing Harry to strip him of his nightshirt and arrange his limbs to suit. He closed his eyes and enjoyed the feeling of Harry’s soft, expressive mouth mapping his skin, his hands smoothing lightly over his muscles, kneading away tension.

“Severus?” Harry said from somewhere between Snape’s legs.

“Umm?” Snape replied, squirming with pleasure as Harry’s fingers moved lightly against his balls.

“I want to feel _this_ ,” he said, squeezing Snape’s cock, “inside me. Will you fuck me?”

Snape knew his indrawn breath sounded loud in the quiet of the bedroom, but hadn’t been able to contain it. “Are you sure?”

Harry crawled up and lay on top of him. “Very.”

“You know that, once it’s done, we can never take it back.”

Harry smiled, equal parts seduction and amusement. “That’s why I want to do it.”

Snape held him close to his body and rolled over, his nearly dry hair hanging limply over the boy’s face. “Mister Potter,” he whispered, ghosting his lips over Harry’s cheekbones and nose. “It would give me great pleasure to fuck you.”

Harry’s mouth on his was wet and excited as he whimpered with need. His knees parted and raised, opening himself up to Snape’s body.

“I’ve wanted this for so long,” he groaned as Snape licked at his neck.

“Harry,” Snape moaned, fumbling under his pillow for the pot of lubricant he had hidden there. He coated his fingers in the slick fluid, drawing his hand down Harry’s thigh.

Harry smiled at him, eyes wild with want as he tilted his hips, exposing himself to Snape’s fingers, which ran gently through his cleft, rubbing against virgin, needy skin.

“Ohhh,” Harry exhaled as Snape’s finger pressed into him, wriggling to get closer.

Snape heard a needy whine, and wasn’t at all embarrassed when he realised he had made the sound himself. He rested his forehead on Harry’s shoulder, feeling the spasms of Harry’s body around his finger as he carefully drew it in and out of the boy’s accepting arse.

“God. Harry,” he whimpered against his neck, pressing fervent kisses against sweaty, sweet skin, feeling his own cock jerk and leak with readiness. Snape felt immortal, supremely powerful – his entire existence coalesced into this one moment when he would penetrate Harry’s willing body. He gently eased another finger in, feeling Harry’s wet gasp against his temple. The hips beneath him writhed, trying to draw him in deep, harder.

Snape’s breath caught in his throat. It was too much – the tightness of Harry’s body, the sounds he made, the flavour of his blood and come echoing on Snape’s tongue. He tried to breathe out, his harsh gasp catching in his throat as his muscles started to clench.

He didn’t realise he’d stopped moving until he heard Harry ask worriedly, “Severus?” He couldn’t breath, his body frozen, his mind searching furiously for answers.

“Severus?”

He could hear Harry yelling in his ear as he was gently rolled onto his back, his fingers popping wetly out of Harry’s body. He opened his eyes and saw Harry’s panicked face above his.

“Severus, are you all right? What’s wrong?”

He tried to speak, but when his mouth fell open a pained groan leaked out. He was starting to lose sensation in his hands and feet, his body trembling with a coldness that seemed to spread out from within, racing through his arteries with mercurial speed.

“Harry!” he tried to say as he started to convulse.

“Severus!” Harry screamed as he held him down.

Snape was hyperventilating as pain ripped through his thrashing body, shattering every nerve ending in its passing. It was one hundred times worse than the Crucitus. His vision dimmed; his eyes wanted to roll back in their sockets as his body poisoned itself with an excess of oxygen. Oh Merlin! If this was what Lupin felt every time he transformed, Snape would never mock the man again.

“Fuck! Sev!”

Snape whimpered as Harry jumped from the bed and raced into the lounge room. He heard the clatter of the metal container he used to store Floo powder in as it hit the floor, heard Harry’s panicked yell of “Headmaster Dumbledore’s office” and bit down hard as the next wave of pain stormed through his body.

He felt blood trickle down his throat.

He wished Harry had remembered to put some clothes on.

He blacked out.


	18. Chapter 18

He felt useless as he stumbled into the Infirmary. Harry shivered under the robe he’d thrown on to cover his nakedness after Dumbledore had stridden out of the fireplace and given him a look, a look that said there would be words later.

But not now. Not when Severus’ body was heaving and struggling under the binds that kept him secure to the hospital bed.

He shivered again – barefoot, feeling helpless without his wand – a nervous trembling that seemed to get worse as time went on. Dumbledore and Pomfrey worked quickly and carefully, both casting spells as Severus groaned against the pain of his Transformation. He needed something to do. He _ached_ for a purpose. It was not in his nature to sit idly by while someone suffered - especially someone he loved.

Dumbledore stood at the foot of the bed, his focus directed on the mattress and bindings to soften the impact of Snape’s struggles. Pomfrey stood near Snape’s chest, moving her wand up and down his body as she slowed down his breathing, loosened his clenched muscles and dulled his senses so the inevitable pain didn’t make him pass out. Harry moved to the head of the bed, tucking himself into the corner of the room and carefully stroking Snape’s hair from his forehead. The repetitive movements seemed to calm them both.

At last Snape’s eyes opened. His mouth had fallen open as he’d panted through the spasms and Pomfrey wiped a soft swab over his lips to clean away the blood that had spurted when his teeth had torn through his lips. Snape looked around the room, taking in Pomfrey’s worried face and Dumbledore’s stoic expression. He saw Harry standing close to him and gave a small smile, before closing his eyes tiredly.

“Poppy,” Dumbledore said. “Is he well enough to speak?”

The medi-witch fussed and prodded, tucking in blankets and straightening sheets. “For a few moments. I’d like him to get some sleep.”

“Headmaster – “ Snape croaked.

“Not now, Severus. Poppy, would you give us a few minutes?”

The nurse left and Harry stepped back.

“I wish to speak to you also, Harry.”

Harry swallowed hard and nodded, moving to Severus’ side. Snape opened his eyes and slowly pulled his arm out from beneath his blankets, offering his hand to Harry. Harry took it, careful not to squeeze too tightly.

“Severus, there are a few things that need to be discussed,” Dumbledore began. “And perhaps young Harry here can be of some help as well.”

Snape chuckled wearily. “Albus, now is not the time.”

An eyebrow rose. “If not now, when?”

Snape’s fingers dug tightly into Harry’s hand. “Soon enough. Can I ask that Harry and I have a few minutes? Alone? You can’t be worried for either of our virtues at the present time.”

“Severus, you’re tired and your body is under a great deal of stress – “

“I am aware of that, and that is why I ask for your indulgence now. Before time gets away from me.”

The two men shared a look before Dumbledore nodded. “I’ll be waiting just outside. You have five minutes. It would be best if Poppy could attend to you further.”

Snape pulled Harry closer, so he gingerly sat beside him on the bed. Harry tried to grin, but his smile collapsed. He took a shuddering breath. “That was close.”

“Harry – “

“Don’t.”

He tried to smile again and his lower lip trembled. His vision started to blur and he angrily wiped at his eyes. Snape’s thumb smoothed over the faded scar on his right hand.

Harry looked up. “I…I think that I…” His voice broke. “Damn it, Severus!”

“Shhh,” Snape soothed, pulling him down until Harry’s head lay against his chest. Harry squeezed his eyes shut as gentle fingers ran through his hair and stroked the back of his neck. “I know. You don’t have to say anything.”

“Severus,” Harry pleaded.

“Listen to me.” Snape’s voice was sure and strong. It was as if he hadn’t been in any pain at all. “I want you to know that I’m very proud, and very grateful for everything you’ve done for me. No one else in my life has ever tried so hard, or given so much. And I want you to know that…it hurts to know that I won’t see what you’ll become, but I have no doubts that anything you set out to do, you’ll do splendidly.”

Harry felt a soft kiss press onto the top of his head. The mouth lingered and Snape whispered against his hair, “I’m sorry to leave you.”

This time Harry couldn’t hold himself back. Raw, angry emotion burst out of him and he wept bitterly. Each death he’d ever suffered through was different, each a new type of torture to endure. His parent’s death was an aching emptiness he’d felt all his life. Sirius’ had been so sudden it had taken months to sink in. With Cedric, Harry had felt guilt at his lack of ability to change the circumstances. The now very present reality of Severus’ death was all that and more. Despair at the lack of a solution. Sadness at the loss of someone he knew he loved, and loved desperately. Anger at the situation. Anger at the vampire who’d started this. Anger at the world.

Strong arms tightened around him and Harry lifted his head. His vision was blurred and he thought that Snape’s eyes weren’t entirely dry. They kissed. It was wet and needy and utterly, utterly futile.

Harry grabbed Snape’s hair and pulled their foreheads together. “ _Please_ don’t leave me.”

“Harry, I don’t want to. But there’s no way – “

“Don’t go. I can’t do this without you.”

“Potter,” Snape said softly. Cool hands encircled Harry’s face as he was drawn up. “You will do this without me. You have many friends, many people to help you with what needs to be done. By god, you will kill him. You’ll do it for me.”

“And after I’ve done that? What am I supposed to do then? There won’t be anything left for me after.”

“After,” Snape mused. “After is a different story. After is a long time away. You’re not ready yet, and neither is he. This problem will not be solved easily. You still have many years to go.”

“What am I going to do without you?” Harry asked.

“Blow things up,” Snape said, cocking an eyebrow. “Get yourself into improbable situations and find impossible ways to get out of them. Be a bad influence on Weasley and Granger. Laugh a bit. Live a lot.”

Harry sat up and rubbed his sleeves against his wet face. “You know,” he said accusingly, “I love you.”

Snape smiled, the way he smiled in Potions when Neville made a bigger than usual mistake. “I know.”

“I suppose it’s too much to ask if you love me?”

“It’s not too much to ask.”

Harry grumped. “So? Do you?”

Snape scoffed, but his eyes softened. “You know I do, idiot boy.”

Harry grumbled again. “Can’t even compliment someone without insulting them. Just wanted to hear the words once in my life.”

Snape snorted and shifted in his bed. “Harry, my time is nearly up. In more ways then one,” he said, mouth quirking.

“You realise you’re sick in the head, don’t you?”

“Kiss me.”

So Harry did, and it started quick and light but then the reality of the situation dawned on them - that this would be the very last time they ever kissed - and it became deeper, slower, sweeter.

Harry refused to be the one to end it and he whimpered when Snape gently pulled away. “Go, Harry. Go now.”

“Severus.”

“I know.” Lips traced over his eyelids and nose. “I know.”

“Thank you,” Harry whispered.

Snape mashed their lips together harshly one more time, than pushed him away. “Tell the Headmaster I want to see him.”

Harry got off the bed, taking a last look at Snape’s hands, Snape’s hair. Severus’ face.

“You always were a bossy bastard,” Harry tried to joke.

“I love you too,” Snape said hoarsely. “Now get out. I never want to see you again.”

Harry’s throat tightened and he nodded quickly, dropping his eyes to the floor. As he opened the curtains to call the Headmaster, he heard Dumbledore whisper as a wand was pressed to his temple.

 

 

Harry squeezed his eyes shut and turned his head. The intensity of the lights shining speckled his vision. Peering from beneath his eyelashes, he could just see the vague blurs of two people guarding him on either side.

“Aurors,” his mind recalled.

He opened his eyes and struggled against the tight cords that bound him to his seat.

The Wizengamot.

Harry knew he was dreaming.

The lights lowered marginally, enough for him to be able to open his eyes warily. He could hear the sounds of people shuffling in their seats and voices murmuring. It sounded like a full house.

“Harry James Potter,” a stern, sexless voice intoned.

His head shot up.

“You have been called to this assembly to answer questions relating to your knowledge of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.”

Dumbledore, wearing garish robes, made his way down an aisle. “Now, now, there’s no need to be like that,” he said with a crafty smile. “Harry, my boy – how are you?”

“I’ve got to get out of here, Headmaster.” There was something wrong with this situation. Harry could feel panic building, but then he had panicked the first time he had been here, too. Something danced on the edge of his memory. He was scared. Time was running out.

“Why am I here?” Harry asked, trying to sound self-assured.

“The time has come to talk of things,” Dumbledore replied. “Miss Granger, if you would?”

A spotlight flared and was directed to the top left of the cold room. Hermione stood up and cleared her throat nervously. Harry blinked. She was dressed as a Muggle bride. Diamonds glittered in her headpiece.

“Something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue.”

She blushed and sat down as applause filled the room. Ron sat next to her, clapping his hands enthusiastically. He kissed her on the cheek and turned, giving Harry a thumbs up.

“Ron? What’s going - ?” Harry asked.

“And now, our second speaker,” the Headmaster continued smoothly.

The spotlight flared again and focussed on a chair to Dumbledore’s immediate right. Draco Malfoy rose slowly, brushing his fringe from his forehead in a calculated gesture. He paused dramatically until he was sure he had the attention of the entire ensemble.

“Mudblood,” he spat. “Filthy - little – tainted - Mudblood.”

As the crowd cheered, Draco turned and gave a half-bow to Dumbledore, which the Headmaster returned. Draco smirked at Harry and sat down.

Harry struggled against his bonds. “I’ve got to get out of here,” he said from behind clenched teeth.

An impossibly large hand clapped down on his shoulder. “You’ll be all right, Harry,” Hagrid said.

A wisp of air tickled his ear. He flung his head around and stared into the warm, brown eyes of Remus Lupin. “Listen,” the werewolf breathed.

“Professor McGonagall, if you would?” the Headmaster asked.

McGonagall stood up slowly, glaring at the bright light focused on her. She carefully unrolled a scroll and peered through her glasses at it. “A change,” she said sternly, “is as good as holiday.”

“Quite right, Minerva, quite right. Now, if there’s nothing else - ?”

“If I may, Headmaster.”

Harry gasped at the sound of the voice. Footsteps echoed crisply as Severus Snape strode into the room. He stood by Harry’s side and sneered down at him. Harry’s eyes roved over him greedily. The Potions master’s face was austere, his body rigid even as his robes settled delicately around him. He was pale, but his eyes and teeth had returned to their usual forms.

“Mister Potter has been derelict in his duties. I have always said that pandering to his ego would be a mistake. In this case – “ he sneered again.

Harry gulped. Gone was the soft expression Harry was used to seeing. Gone was the tight smile that sometimes escaped his control. This man looked as if he truly hated Harry, as if he always had and always would.

“Severus,” Harry whispered, not sure why he had the courage to say his first name.

“I suppose it is too much to ask that you pay attention when I speak, Mister Potter?” Snape hissed.

“Severus, I’m sorry,” Harry said, not understanding why he felt confused and sad. “I’m sorry,” he repeated.

Snape stepped in front of him and placed his hands on either side of Harry’s body, trapping him further. He leaned over and hissed, “Fresh meat.

Harry flinched as Snape slowly licked up his neck.

“Fresh blood.” Snape’s tongue swiped Harry across his cheek.

Harry panted and struggled. “Don’t – “

“Fine, young, _potent_ blood,” Snape murmured against Harry’s mouth. With a moan, Harry’s lips parted and Snape’s tongue snuck inside, writhing in his mouth as Harry pushed his head back and up, trying to deepen the kiss.

Snape pulled back suddenly, his eyes glittering with hidden emotion. “And that is why you are a poor student.”

Harry choked, his breath trapped in his chest. He had to get out of here.

There were a few isolated claps as Snape snorted and strode swiftly to Dumbledore’s side. He looked peevishly at the wizards and witches that filled the room.

“If there are no other petitioners, I believe we should draw this meeting to a close,” Dumbledore said.

“What’s going on?” Harry screamed. “Headmaster, Ron – what’s going on?”

Dumbledore looked flatly at him. His eyes were expressionless as they gazed over his spectacles.

“There are some things, young man, that only you can do. If you do not,” Dumbledore shrugged sadly. “People will die.”

“Who’s dying?” Harry rasped.

“Why, Harry! Don’t you know?”

 

 

Harry struggled to gain consciousness, images and words swirling in his mind as he fought to wake up.

Death.

Life.

Rebirth.

New.

Him.

Blood.

 _Him_.

Severus.

SEVERUS!

Harry gasped and sat up quickly, his head swimming so rapidly he nearly fell off the bed. His glasses were missing and he felt around, finding them on the table beside him. He slipped them on and looked around. He was still in the Infirmary, still dressed in his robe and nothing else. He jumped off the bed, staggering a little as he ran.

The curtains around Severus’ bed were closed, but Harry could hear soft, feminine sniffles and a soothing masculine voice.

Oh God, too late!

He flung the curtains aside. McGonagall was weeping into a tartan handkerchief while Pomfrey ran a comforting hand up and down her back. Dumbledore’s eyes were bloodshot, but his arm was steady as he held out his wand, pointed it directly at the still, barely breathing body of Severus Snape.

“NO!” Harry screamed, leaping towards the bed and throwing his body over Snape’s. He pressed down hard, not caring if he hurt the man as he tried to shield him with his own body.

“Harry!” McGonagall said.

“No!” Harry repeated, wrapping his arms around Snape’s neck. Snape whimpered, his skin waxy and dry under the low light of the room.

“Harry,” Dumbledore said softly.

Harry turned and snarled. “NO! I won’t let you!”

McGonagall began to cry harder. She snuffled into her hands as the Headmaster lowered his wand.

“Harry, listen to me. Severus wanted it this way. He’s too far gone. The change could happen at any time. You don’t want him to go through that. Respect his wishes and let me do what I must.”

“Fuck his wishes, and fuck you!”

Pomfrey gasped. Dumbledore’s lips tightened. “I know you’re upset but – “

Harry grit his teeth in frustration. “Headmaster,” he pleaded, “if I tell you something, something really important, will you wait? Just for a little bit longer?”

“It will be easier on Severus in the long run if we do this before the Transformation is complete.”

“I know, I just - . Come closer, I don’t want anyone else to know.”

Dumbledore inched forward and Harry took his chance, snatching the wand from the Headmaster’s hand in the blink of an eye. He turned suddenly on the bed, supporting Snape’s limp body with his left arm as his right hand pointed the wand at the stunned adults.

“Mister Potter!” McGonagall exclaimed.

“Listen to me,” Harry said, voice quaking. “Just listen to me and no one will get hurt.”

Dumbledore moved and Harry’s hand moved sharply in his direction. “Don’t come any closer.”

“Harry, we all know you won’t hurt anyone. It’s not in your nature. I know you’re upset, but don’t do anything you’ll regret. He wouldn’t have wanted it this way.”

Harry swallowed and looked down at Snape’s lax face. His jaw had dropped open and his breathing was shallow and rapid as his lungs tried to gain enough oxygen to keep him alive. Harry looked up. “I know. I won’t hurt you.”

He turned the wand until its point was pressed into his chest, right above his own heart. “But I swear to God, if you come any closer, I’ll kill myself. I will. I swear on my parent’s grave. Fuck Voldemort and fuck the Wizarding world. I’ll do it.”

The adults froze as Harry’s eyes flickered restlessly between them. They seemed to have a silent conversation, then Dumbledore sighed, stepping away from the bed. “As you wish, Harry. What do you want?”

“Get me Hermione. And Ron. And make it quick. We’re running out of time.”

 

 

It took ten minutes for Harry’s friends to arrive. Ten minutes where Harry was on edge, not trusting that the adults wouldn’t attempt to wrest control of the situation. He knew that Dumbledore was more than capable of retrieving his wand, but kept the wand point pushed tightly to his chest. He threw furious glances their way and he pressed a kiss onto Snape’s forehead. “Not much longer now,” he whispered. “I’m trying my best. Really, I am.”

Snape moaned and twisted against him. Harry kissed him again. “I’m not going to let you go. I love you. Hang on for a little while longer.”

McGonagall returned with a bewildered Hermione and Ron trailing behind her.

“Harry?” Ron gaped.

“What’s going on?” Hermione cried.

“I’ve got an idea, and I need your help. We need to give him a blood transfusion.”

“What?” Hermione asked, sharing an incredulous look with Ron.

“It’s his blood. Remember what the poem said – the vessel must spill or be damned? He spilt his blood, but I don’t think it was enough. The curse is carried in his blood. He needs new blood and we’re going to give it to him.”

“Potter, that’s – “ Pomfrey began.

“Don’t!” he retorted, curling his body around Snape’s. “Just listen. Hermione? You can explain it better than me.”

She swallowed as everyone’s gaze fell upon her. “Well,” she said, voice shaking. “In the Muggle world, when someone is having an operation, or has been injured and lost a lot of blood, the doctors fill the patient up with blood donated by other people. But I don’t – “

“That’s barbaric!” McGonagall exclaimed.

“Actually,” Hermione said, her voice strengthening as it changed into lecture-mode, “it’s quite a sensible thing to do. Muggles don’t have Blood-Restoring Potions, and we can’t always rely on the body being able to replenish itself in time. There are certain conditions of course – the blood must be disease-free and the donor and patient must have the same blood type, but it’s a very common procedure. But Harry, I don’t know if this will work!”

“We’ll find a way. There has to be something she can do. Wizards haven’t always had potions, have they?” he asked, directing his question to Madam Pomfrey.

“No,” she said, eyebrows creasing in thought. “What you are describing has occurred in the Wizarding world, although not for a good many years. It’s just not done anymore.”

“Well, now it is.”

“Harry.”

Harry tightened his hold on Snape and looked warily at the Headmaster.

Dumbledore raised his hands submissively and said, “Even if you manage to replace all the blood in Severus’ body, there’s no guarantee this will work. He may Transform during the procedure. He may Transform soon after it.”

“I know. But at least I’m trying.”

“You may cause him more harm than good,” Dumbledore said.

“I know,” Harry said. He looked at Snape and thought he may have heard his name being whispered, but chalked it up to a passing fancy. He stared at Dumbledore. “Will you help me?”

Dumbledore sighed and looked at Pomfrey, whose lips tightened. After a few seconds hesitation, she nodded abruptly. Dumbledore sighed again. “As you wish, Harry.”

“Do you promise?”

“I do most solemnly swear, on my powers as a Wizard.”

At the formal words, Harry nodded and relaxed his grip on the wand slightly.

“But,” Dumbledore continued, “if this doesn’t turn out the way you expect – “

“I know,” Harry said brokenly. “It’ll be all my fault. But I’m willing to risk it for him. I’ll accept the consequences of my actions and…if it doesn’t work out, you can do what you promised, sir. I won’t fight you anymore. I’ll…I’ll even help you, if you want.”

“Mate,” Ron said, sadness twisting his face.

“It’ll be all right, Ron,” Harry said, hoping the emotion swirling in his stomach was confidence. “So, Hermione – what do we need to do?”

 

 

Within an hour, they were ready to begin. Harry had allowed Pomfrey to lay Snape flat on his back, two sterile tubes imbedded securely, one in his carotid artery and one in his jugular vein. Harry held Snape’s hand, trying not to get in the way of the now business-like witch but refusing to move too far away.

Ron walked slowly to his side, looking down at Snape’s pale visage. “You know, if this doesn’t work, he’s going to be really pissed at you.”

“I know,” Harry snorted softly.

“Really pissed, as in ‘break your scrawny neck’ pissed. That’s if he lives long enough to find out.”

“You’re not helping, Ron.”

“Sorry.”

Dumbledore joined them, standing on the other side of the bed and stroking Snape’s hair from his eyes, being careful not to touch the glittering tubes. “I hope you know what you’re doing, Harry.”

“I hope so too,” Harry ground out.

“I want you to know something before we begin,” the Headmaster said, straightening up. “No matter what you believe, I did not let this go ahead because I was afraid you would end your own life and ruin our chances at finally ridding the world of Tom. I did it because I have hope, and I want Severus to live.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Be that as it may,” Dumbledore added, peering sternly over his glasses. “When this is all over and done with - regardless of what happens - you and I will sit down and have a talk. A very serious talk.”

Harry nodded. It didn’t matter what Dumbledore threatened him with. If Severus died, he would accept the consequences of his actions and whatever punishment the Headmaster thought suitable to inflict on a student that had had a sexual relationship with a teacher. And if he lived –

Well, he and Severus would face that together.

Hermione and Madam Pomfrey whispered in a huddle, finishing their preparations. After a very technical conversation that Harry and Ron had no hopes of following, the two witches had managed to come up with a battle plan. Hermione had raced to the Library while Pomfrey had searched through her old textbooks.

Pomfrey submitted that an average adult human had five litres of blood coursing through their body, so they needed at least five and a half to be sure. Hermione had informed her that the average donation amongst Muggles was 500 millilitres, thus they needed to enlist the help of other people. Even with Ron, Harry and Hermione agreeing to donate two units each (brushing aside the suggestion that it would make them light-headed and potentially ill), they still fell short.

In deference to his age, Pomfrey allowed Dumbledore to donate only one unit. She herself decided not to participate, as she needed to keep her wits about her. McGonagall refused to listen to reason and gave two units, although she needed to lie down afterwards.

Hagrid, Flitwick and Hooch were discounted, as they were not fully human. Ron wanted to wake Ginny and a few other Gryffindors up, but Dumbledore quashed his suggestion, leaving the Infirmary and returning with a very cheery Trewlaney and a worried looking Pince. Both women, when the situation was explained to them, offered whatever it took to help their colleague survive.

With that, they achieved their total. Hermione was worried that, even though they were all witches and wizards, normal human biology needed to be taken into consideration and their potentially differing blood types would cause the procedure to fail. Pomfrey showed her a complicated spell that was not often used anymore, although it had, she said, “The effect of balancing out antigens and lymphocytes, whilst maintaining the viability of the erythrocytes.”

Harry stopped listening at that point and watched as the two witches made a number of vials spin lazily in the air as they negotiated and argued and finally came to an agreement.

It was either going to work, or it wasn’t. His dream had to mean something. He held firmly to his luck. It would be all right. It had to be.

“We’re ready, Headmaster,” Pomfrey said, floating over two large, round-bottomed jars that sloshed with red blood. Hermione walked carefully behind her, pale and withdrawn but a look of determination on her face.

Pomfrey tried to shoo Harry and Ron away. Ron stepped back but Harry, after releasing Severus’ hand, stood at his head and refused to move.

“I must say, I don’t like the ethics of this situation,” Pomfrey snapped. “It is against my policy to perform new procedures on patients without their express consent.”

“Understood, Poppy, but as Harry said, we have nothing to lose at this point.” The Headmaster smiled tiredly at her. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Stand back,” she said shortly. “Granger, over here. You,” she added, looking pointedly at Harry, “be prepared for anything. I have no idea what to expect.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” he said humbly, resting the bare tips of his fingers against Snape’s skull.

“Now then,” Pomfrey said, flexing her wand hand. She tapped Snape on the forehead, putting him into a deeper sleep. The man’s breathing became more shallow, his mouth pulled into an unnatural grimace as his head was held back to allow the intrusions at his throat. His fangs seemed to have elongated since he’d been placed in the Infirmary.

“Here goes,” Pomfrey breathed, tapping the tube connected to Snape’s jugular and murmuring a spell. Instantly, brownish blood began to sluggishly leak into the tube, running down and into sealed containers placed at her feet. She watched its flow then tapped the tube again. The blood began to flow more rapidly.

“Headmaster, if you would place a containment spell around the collection vessels?”

Dumbledore nodded and cast a quick spell. The containers shimmered with the force of the spell then returned to their usual colour.

Pomfrey touched her wand to Snape’s chest and the room was filled with the amplified sounds of his heartbeat. The rhythm was extremely slow, but she didn’t appear to be perturbed.

“Hermione?” Harry asked, worriedly.

Hermione gave him a quick nod. “It looks like nearly a unit and a half, Madam Pomfrey.”

The nurse nodded and rubbed the back of her hand across her forehead. “I know, but I want to get as much out as possible before I introduce the clean specimen.”

“How much blood can a person lose before they die?” Ron whispered from the corner.

Both Pomfrey and Hermione ignored him, looking at the rise and fall of their patient’s chest.

“Two units,” Hermione said softly.

Pomfrey sighed, waving her wand and calling up a number of colourful lines, which flickered and flashed as numbers scrolled continuously along their sides. “Blood pressure’s falling.”

“Do something!” Harry rasped.

“Mister Potter,” Pomfrey said, throwing a sharp glance his way. “Until, and unless you are a trained physician, you will not tell me what to do.”

“It was my idea,” he said sullenly.

“Yes, she snorted, “and let’s hope it was one of your better ones.” She tapped her wand to the nearest bottle containing their donations and vibrant red blood poured down the tube and into Snape’s artery. “Now, let’s see – “

Snape’s body flexed in its bindings, his back arching up and falling back to the bed.

“Hold him still!” Pomfrey yelled, checking that the tubes remained in place. Harry held down Snape’s shoulders while Ron threw himself across Snape’s legs. Dumbledore stood at the foot of the bed, wand at the ready.

The loud sound of Snape’s heartbeat changed; it quickened in pace then paused, beating in a staccato rhythm.

“I think we need to hurry up,” Hermione said.

Pomfrey nodded and tapped her wand twice. Blood pulsed quickly out of the bottles and into Snape’s body, while the cursed blood poured into the spelled containers at their feet.

Snape gasped, his mouth dropping open and displaying his enlarged fangs as his lungs struggled for air.

“Hang on,” Harry cried. “We’re nearly there.”

Chest heaving, Snape’s body convulsed again, straining and twisting against Harry and Ron’s hands. His eyes flung open – his pupils had contracted to pinpoints and his irises had changed from their usual deep brown to a shimmering crimson.

He hissed.

“Almost done,” Pomfrey mumbled, watching as the level of blood in the containers holding their donations fell rapidly.

“I think his body is fighting against the curse,” Hermione said.

“Let’s hope it’s that,” Pomfrey said. She cast a low-level relaxation spell and Snape’s body unclenched slightly.

Harry crouched down beside Snape’s head, ignoring the low, feral snarls emanating from the shuddering body. “Nearly there, Severus,” he whispered in his ear. “Hang on for just a little while longer.”

Snape’s heartbeat raced until it was nearly impossible to hear a pause between beats.

Harry pressed his forehead into Snape’s temple. “Don’t give up, you bastard. Don’t make me look like an idiot.”

Dumbledore smiled and stroked Snape’s foot. “You’re doing magnificently, old friend.”

“That’s it,” Hermione said, almost swaying on her feet. “That’s all of it.”

Everyone looked at the bottles drained clean of blood.

Pomfrey touched her wand to Snape’s carotid artery and carefully removed it, spelling away the hole and sterilising the area.

“Shouldn’t you stop now?” Ron asked.

“Momentarily, Mister Weasley,” Pomfrey said abstractedly, watching the colourful lines swirling in front of her. “Granger, are the containers full yet?”

Hermione ducked her head. “Nearly. They’re at five litres.”

“Just one minute more,” Pomfrey murmured.

Ron swallowed but didn’t release his grip of Snape’s hips. Harry nuzzled Snape’s cheek. “You’re doing so well.” He hoped that, even in the midst of his struggle, Severus would be able to hear him.

“There,” Pomfrey whispered, dispelling her visual display. She tapped her wand to the remaining tube and gently removed it, repeating her healing and cleaning spells.

They stood in silence as they listened to the sound of Snape’s heartbeat return to a slow and steady beat. Harry let out a breath he didn’t realise he was holding. Hermione smiled wanly and rubbed her eyes. Dumbledore’s eyes gleamed.

“What do we do now?” Ron asked.

“Now, we wait,” Pomfrey retorted, cancelling the spell that allowed them to hear Snape’s amplified heart beat. “Move aside.”

They got out of her way as she carefully levitated the tainted blood from the floor. “Headmaster, I’ll need your help to dispose of this.”

“Of course, Poppy. Although I believe we should keep a sample aside. No doubt Severus would like to take a good look at it.”

“Madame Pomfrey? He still has fangs,” Hermione said.

“Well, there’s nothing we can do about it now. Either it worked, or it didn’t. Now, all of you are going to drink a Blood-Restoring potion and get some rest. That includes you, Headmaster. And you too, Mister Potter.”

“I’m not leaving him,” Harry mumbled.

“I will not be held accountable – “

“Poppy,” Dumbledore interrupted. “Harry and I will stay. No doubt it will make Severus feel better to wake up to something familiar?”

Pomfrey grumbled and went to gather their potions.

“Hermione, Ron,” Harry said, stopping his friends. “I just wanted to say…that I couldn’t have done any of this without you, and I’m sorry for being such a bad friend – “

“Oh, Harry!” Hermione cried, throwing her arms around his neck.

“I’m so proud of you,” she whispered in his ear. Harry hugged her back tightly. He stepped back and looked into the eyes of his best friend.

“Ron…?”

Ron smiled and clasped the back of his neck, lowering his head until their foreheads touched. “Anything for you, yeah? This was nothing.”

“I don’t deserve you,” Harry whispered, grimacing as he felt his lower lip tremble with exhaustion.

“I love you too, you prat.” Ron gave him a quick, wet kiss to the cheek and pushed him away. “Go sit with the git. It’ll make him happy if he can open his eyes and yell at you from the get-go.”

Harry nodded and rubbed his eyes. Hermione kissed him softly. As Harry sat by Snape’s bedside, he heard them speaking softly to Madam Pomfrey as they were sent back to their rooms.

Dumbledore lowered himself into the chair opposite Harry. “His colour seems to be improving,” he said, stroking Snape’s cheek.

“Yeah,” Harry mumbled, keeping his eyes on Snape’s chest. It was comforting to see the steady rise and fall with each breath.

They sat in silence as Pomfrey made them drink their potions and gave them each a blanket, setting monitoring spells on her patient before she retired.

“Madam Pomfrey?” Harry said nervously. “I’m really sorry about the way I treated you before, and I wanted to say – we couldn’t have done this without you. Thank you. A lot. I really mean it.”

“Apology and thanks accepted, Mister Potter, although I believe a few hours of scrubbing bed pans might be in order?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied. “Whatever it takes.”

Her face softened. “Get some rest, the both of you.”

Dumbledore and Harry sat quietly, each lost in their own thoughts. Harry felt his eyelids drooping and sat up quickly, trying to stay awake.

“Nothing will harm him while I am here,” Dumbledore said softly.

“I know,” Harry agreed, holding Snape’s hand in his. “Not while I’m here, either.”

Dumbledore settled more comfortably in his chair, eyes landing on Harry and Snape’s joined hands, then flickering to Harry’s face. Harry ignored him, focusing on Snape’s chest. He’s still alive, he’s still alive…

“Harry?”

Harry shook his head. He didn’t want to have this conversation now.

“Harry – “

“Please. Just…not now. Okay? Later, when we…just not now. Please?”

Dumbledore sighed. “I think Severus was right.”

Harry looked up sharply. “What do you mean?”

Dumbledore smiled. “I do tend to give you special consideration.”

Harry shook his head again, fighting off another wave of exhaustion. He looked at the steady rise and fall of Snape’s chest and decided to ignore everything. This was what mattered. This was his only concern. The steady rise and fall of Severus’ chest, the soft sounds of his breathing, the input and output of oxygen that showed he was still…

Snape’s chest rose.

And fell.

And fell.

And paused.

Why wasn’t he - ?

Harry screamed. “He’s not breathing!”


	19. Chapter 19

The coach clock over the stove chimed once. It was a quarter to twelve and, just like the year before, Harry sat alone in the kitchen of 12 Grimmauld Place.

He watched as candle wax dripped down the candelabras, touching a finger to the hot wax and letting the momentary sting keep him awake.

He was nearly nineteen.

He thought back over the previous year. Sirius had been gone for nearly two years now, and the sharp pain caused by his death had dulled to an ache in Harry’s chest. He wondered what his godfather would have thought of his actions during the time since.

Most likely would have kicked his arse, Harry thought with a small smile.

Lupin was healed and almost constantly on the road. His work against the Dark Lord was even more important to him now than it had ever been. He, and the other members of the Order, continued their guerrilla war. Small victories were won, but the constant menace of Death Eaters slowed down their movements at each stage.

Hermione and Ron were as dogged in their quest as Lupin was in his. They swore to be at Harry’s side every step of the way. Their protectiveness toward him bordered on overzealousness, but he accepted it because he knew their intentions were good. They only wanted the best for him and truthfully, he needed them to drag him out of his occasional emotional quagmire.

He sighed. Sometimes he still didn’t believe he deserved friends like Ron and Hermione. At other times he knew that feeling was just another sign that the Dursley’s had scarred him in more ways than one.

Harry knew _his_ time was fast approaching. Any day now, Voldemort would make his move. Harry could feel it in his bones. He hoped for at least one more year of relative peace, one more year in which to prepare himself. When the final battle happened, he wanted to walk into it with his eyes wide open and his resolve set. He needed to be ready.

As far as Harry knew, there were no more hidden prophecies, no other important bits of information being withheld by the Headmaster. In the past few months, he and Dumbledore had struck an uneasy alliance. There were still things to be sorted out - neither could easily forget the harsh words that had passed between them - but at least Harry knew that Dumbledore had faith in him now. Not just as the Hope Of The Wizarding World, but as a colleague. A man to be reckoned with.

And there was one man who continually circled on the outskirts of his conscious mind. Harry wished he could forget but the events of that dreadful night six months before wouldn’t let him be.

He relived that last night before everything went to hell – Snape’s fangs sinking deep into his skin, soft touches and sweet kisses turning into confusion and terror.

He recalled the feelings of helplessness and despair he’d been struck with when he realised Snape’s time was running out.

Harry’s throat tightened, remembering that last futile kiss they’d shared before Severus had said, “I love you, too,” before sending him away forever.

He remembered the bitter panic that had swelled in his chest as he’d dreamed of the Wizengamot and knew that he was needed someplace else.

He held tight the blinding hope of his solution, and unconsciously his lips began to move as he repeated his prayer of that night - _Hang on. Nearly there now. Don’t give up_.

In his memories, he watched Snape struggle against his bonds, hissing and spitting as his body fought the Curse, as the old blood and new battled for dominance.

Harry remembered Severus’ breath leaving his body, lungs being too tired to continue, his own panicked screams, and Dumbledore’s shock, Pomfrey’s haste and a slew of spells cast again and again, just to make the man breath, just to keep him alive that little bit longer.

He cleared his throat and dried his eyes. Hermione and Ron were right. There was nothing to be gained from endlessly relieving the experience. Better to leave it in the past where it belonged.

Better to ignore what had happened and focus on the future.

“Brooding?”

Harry looked up at the voice. “Thinking.”

“Trying to show off?”

Harry’s lips tightened as Snape lowered himself into the chair next to him. “Why, you impressed?”

Snape snorted. “It takes more than rudimentary brain functions to impress me, Potter.”

“Mmmm.”

Snape pulled his robe more tightly around his body, flicking his wand towards the fireplace, causing the flames to double in intensity. His teeth gleamed in the warm light – yellow, crooked, and completely normal. Harry fought back a grin as he remembered the pleasure he’d received from Snape’s fangs. It was good that they were gone, but still…a man could reminisce.

“Why am I having a feeling of deju vu?” Snape asked, breaking into his train of thought.

Harry shook his head to clear it. “Maybe because we’ve done this before? Are you feeling all right?”

“Stop coddling. Make me a cup of tea.”

Harry sighed. “Yes, Professor.”

Harry made them both a cup and sat back down, staring into the candle flames.

“Any reason you’re not in bed?” Snape asked quietly.

“It’s my birthday in – “ Harry squinted, “Three minutes.”

Snape grunted. “Happy birthday, I suppose.”

“You could at least wait until it’s after midnight,” Harry said, slurping his tea.

“Uncouth child,” Snape answered, sipping his. He cleared his throat delicately. “No cake?”

“Dobby will give me one in the morning.”

Snape gave him a glare. “Entirely too predicable, Mister Potter.”

Snape snapped his fingers and a cake appeared in front of them. The icing was blood red and, written in gold were the words, “Happy 19th Birthday Harry.”

A smile split Harry’s face. “Should we eat it now?”

Snape grimaced. “Certainly not. It will keep until morning. Just because you have the constitution of a dragon doesn’t mean others, more mature than you, have a similar gastronomic condition.”

Harry shook his head. "So, where’s my present?”

“That is your present.”

“Cheap – “ Harry’s words were cut off by a hand that gently nudged his chin up. He closed his eyes and leant into the soft, slow kiss. A thumb slipped under his glasses and traced over a still damp eyelid.

“ – bastard,” he panted slightly against Snape’s warm lips.

Snape rose, smoothing his robe over his thighs. His eyes seemed to grow darker. “You’ve no need to fret anymore.”

“I know, but I still like to worry about you.”

The crooked teeth shone again, a sliver of light between Snape’s thin lips. “Harry. Come back to bed.”

Harry blew out the candles and trailed closely behind Severus as he walked up the stairs.

Harry smiled.

His lover always knew the right thing to say.


End file.
